


Reckless Behaviour

by ghostrider



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: AH - Freeform, Highschool AU, Hostage Situations, Kidnapping, M/M, STRONG ZOUIS FRIENDSHIP, Stockholm Syndrome, basically the entire stockholm syndrome song by 1d ok, bottom!Zayn, childhood friends fall apart bcz of misunderstandings, this fic aint that dark btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 11:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6077274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostrider/pseuds/ghostrider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn gets in an accident on the night of the school dance, and wakes up in an unexpected place with an unexpected boy holding him hostage.</p><p>(aka a stockholm syndrome + high school au where liam and zayn don’t like each other (or at least that’s what they think) and zayn’s best friend louis has a giant crush on the basketball captain who just happens to be liam’s best friend.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reckless Behaviour

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a prompt, a song and an episode of cold case. very strong zouis friendship. dont get confused by the education system and all. this fic follows the british education system (olevels/alevels). everyone is 18/19 year old, take me back to 2012. the kidnapping thing is NOT very intense, like i've tried to keep it as mild as possible, there’s no violence and stuff. but if you think it’ll still be a trigger, don’t read. and it's also not ALL about the kidnapping thing, like there is back story and it ends another way and i don’t wanna ruin anything so bye. lastly, i don’t know what happened with this fic, it was supposed to be WAY shorter but like idk.
> 
> ps. medication phobia is a thing. and zayn kind of has in this fic. another tw i guess.
> 
> i hope u enjoy this mess :) x

There is a blank word document staring at him in the face as he sits frozen in front of his laptop; the words ‘personal statement’ heavy on his mind, uncertain fingers hovering over the keyboard.  
  
The admission officers at Bronxford University of Technology and Engineering (BUTE) want to know what he wants to do with his life and why, what his dreams are and what his story is – who  _he_  is? And he is honestly clueless.   
  
Who is he really? Is he the person who secretly sings in front of the bathroom mirror with a bottle of deodorant in his hand, or is he the person who had nodded his head without a single objection when his father, Yaser, had chosen his career for him?

‘ _i am so glad you are finally ready to go to BUTE, i have been waiting for this day since you were born. you’ll make such a great engineer zain. just like me, and your grandfather, and your great great grandfather. it’s in your genes son, nothing can be better for you. you’ll make me proud_ beta _. i know you will._ ’  
  
Probably, in Yaser’s mind Zayn had been admitted to BUTE the moment he had come out his mother’s womb. And Zayn doesn’t really blame his father for it. Because it’s not really Yaser’s fault. His dad is just following tradition. A stupid tradition that one of his forefathers had set for every male in the Malik family to follow. He has no idea as to who the very first engineer in their family was, who made it mandatory for all Malik males to follow in his footsteps. But he does know this; if he ever gets to meet them, he is going to starve them and strangle them. (or maybe he’s just going to ask his best friend, Louis, to do so.)  
  
It’s not like Zayn hasn’t ever tried to tell his father how he did not want to become an engineer, because he has. However indirectly it had been, he has. Like that one time during his O-levels when he had asked his father if he could study art as a side subject (and surprisingly his father had allowed him to but only if he didn’t let his science and math grades drop). Or like when he had failed physics with hopes of his father letting him drop the subject (and his father had smashed his brand new guitar against the wall because if he had spent the time studying instead of learning how to play it, he wouldn’t have failed. and ‘ _nobody_   _fails physics in the malik family.’_ ) So yeah, Zayn had tried his level (minimum) best in trying to convey to his father how engineering was the last thing he wanted to pursue as a career, and he had failed miserably at it. Which wasn’t really a surprise anyway because somewhere in his heart he had always known how nothing he could do would ever change his father’s mind. He had already witnessed how that went down with one of his cousins.

When Zayn was ten, he had stood with his family and watched Hassan, his favorite cousin, quarrel with his uncle on the topic and he had seen him lose badly. Had watched silently as the rebellious, fun loving Hassan gave up and said farewell to them all, tears pooling in his eyes as he left the house to never return. He was going to go live his life the way he wanted, he was going to go out and become a DJ. He had dreamed of it his whole life, and giving up on his dreams wasn’t his thing - ‘ _And if my dad isn’t going to allow that under his roof, I’m going to find a god damn roof of my own.’_

Zayn had seen that all, probably he had cried too somewhere in between because he had always been close to all his cousins. The only thing scary about the situation was that his uncle didn’t even flinch. He saw his son leave the house, he saw his wife cry her eyes out but nothing changed his strong resolve. He would rather let his son go forever than allow him to pursue his dreams, make his own life decisions. That was how serious the Malik family took their stupid "traditions" and Zayn had accepted long ago how it wasn’t going to change.

And now it’s his turn. It’s his turn to follow in his forefathers’ footsteps. He curses them in his heart as he tries to come up with words for his personal statement but his brain refuses to assist. It bombards him with questions instead; _‘do you really want this? do you really want this?’,_ and it is just annoying. Because he has already thought a lot about what he really wants and yes, this isn’t what he fucking wants! But he already knows he’s not brave, hardcore or defiant enough to stand up to his father. He loves and respects his father too much, so much that he would do anything to avoid having a falling out with him.

Frustrated and angry, he shuts the laptop screen down hard and reaches for his pocket to get his cigarette pack out. Only that he doesn’t find it there because he had run out of cigarettes a few hours back and because his life obviously sucks. He is on the verge of punching something when his phone vibrates, the screen blaring up with a message. He sighs because he already knows who it is; there is only one person he knows who has no concept of time.

_**Louis: hi i am hungry** _

(and he smirks to himself when he sees Louis’ name because yes, exactly who he was expecting.)

**Get sth to eat then**

 

**_Louis: no no come out_ **

 

**What**

 

**_Louis: come out bahir aa_ **

(and louis texting or speaking in urdu doesn’t surprise him anymore. louis has been in his life, has been like a member of his family for so long that he was bound to catch on a few words)

**But why**

 

_**Louis: ur not supposed to ask why. bro code remember?** _

 

**Lou its 1 fucking am**

 

**_Louis: ok and??_ **

 

**Im not coming out**

 

**_Louis: what if im dying here or sth?_ **

 

**Ur not dying i know**

 

**_Louis: yeah but what if i am_ **

 

**Louis.**

 

**_Louis: taking my last breaths just now_ **

 

**Ur a prick .**

 

**_Louis: im waiting ;) also bring a jacket :*_ **

Getting out of his chair, he shoves his phone into his pocket and walks to his closet. He pulls out a leather jacket and a beanie for himself and grabs a warm maroon hoodie for Louis. He locks his room door, switches the lights off and then jumps out of his room window, landing softly on the balcony. He quickly puts on the pair of boots that he keeps there for situations like these and then he is jumping down the balcony, like he has done this numerous times before, landing on a heap of snow.

“One day you’re gonna die like this mate,” a low but sharp voice tells him when he stands up, brushing snow off his clothes.

“And whose fault is that gonna be?” he shoots back, throwing the hoodie at Louis’s face.

“If you’re by anyway hinting that it’ll be my fault, then you’re wrong,” Louis says, as he gets into the hoodie, “Because I have never asked you to pull a Spiderman you know.”

“Yeah, like my mom’s going to allow me to stroll the streets with you at 1 in the morning,” Zayn says, as they start to walk towards- Zayn doesn’t know.

“I meant you could use the fucking door!”

“Yeah, and wake up the dog and the entire house. Cool thanks, I’ll keep that in my mind.”

“You’re grouchy, whats up?” Louis bumps his shoulder with his.

“Nothing I want to talk about.”

“Wait wait, I know that one! You still haven’t had the courage to tell your father and you don’t want to go away from me to BUTE, right?”

Zayn doesn’t reply, just keeps walking straight ahead.

“I knew it! Good old me, correct as always!” Louis snaps his fingers, “Anyway, I got you this.”

Louis reaches for his trouser’s pocket and pulls a rectangular box out. And Zayn realizes he loves Louis a bit too much. He grabs the pack of Marlboros from Louis and wastes no time in tearing the packing. His lighter is out in another second, a cigarette between his lips in the next.

“If it irks you this much, you ought to talk to your father Zain,” Louis tells him as he takes the box back from Zayn, lights a cigarette for himself.

And Zayn hates when Louis calls him Zain because that either means that Louis is being dreadfully serious or it means that Louis is right ‒ Zayn isn’t a fan of either.

“Can we not talk about this? Its 1 am, I need mental rest and I thought you were very hungry,” Zayn says.

“Nah, I’m not. I was only testing you when I said that.”

“Testing me?”

“Yeah.”

“How exactly were you testing me?”

"Well, if you had replied to my ‘hi i am hungry’ with a ‘hi i am zayn’, we wouldn’t be best friends anymore."

"That is so… lame.”

“I know.”

“And you’re absolutely mad,” Zayn adds.

"And absolutely fun," Louis winks at him. 

They let the silence drag between them, taking long drags of their cigarettes, as they continue to amble forward. They have done this before numerous times; went out for a night stroll. Most of the times they just go to the bakery at the end of the street, then take a U-turn and come back to Zayn’s house. Sometimes, when they feel like they need some more time outside they walk all the way to Louis’ house and turn back at the door, to come back to Zayn’s. Sometimes, if too tired to walk, they stop at a yogurt parlor to chill or go smoke sitting on their favorite bench at the local park (which shuts down at 11 pm sharp but jumping over the low fence around it has never been really hard). These few minutes with each other, is their ‘chilling out time’ and considering their daily routines, they definitely need it.

Louis lives a tough life; supporting his single mother who is almost always working and his four sisters who look up to him because they have no one else to. He has endless part time jobs, or it just looks like they’re endless anyway because Louis is almost never home. So the fact that Louis is smart works greatly in his favor for otherwise he would just fail all his classes. Zayn wouldn’t really call his life tough really; he has a happy healthy family and both his parents have nice paying jobs. But sometimes, a healthy complete family and enough money don’t equate to happiness. On one side of the wall, if Louis is free to do anything he wants with his life, Zayn isn’t. He feels trapped within the norms and conventions laid out by his ancestors and it is a torture in its own kind. It feels like he is living in 1990 or something, confined by the narrow-mindedness of his family, even when it is over a decade later.

So this little time, he gets with Louis mean a lot to him. He is free to smoke as many cigarettes as he likes without being told to quit, he is free to talk about his new art or music without being criticized and he is free to express how he feels about everything and nothing without being interrupted (well, at least most of the time). He feels alive, he feels liberated, and he knows there is nobody judging him for what he likes or what he wants to do. And he knows that it is the same case for Louis, albeit in a different way.

“Another cigarette for your thoughts?” Louis distracts him.

“Cigarette yes, thoughts no,” Zayn replies.

“You need to chill, bro,” Louis says, handing Zayn the pack anyway.

“I need to write my personal statement, and I have no idea where to even begin,” Zayn tells him.

“When’s it due?”

“By the end of March.”

“It’s January, you’ve shit loads of time mate.”

“Yeah but  _baba_  says sending it early would increase the admission chances.”

“But you don’t want that to happen.”

“I know, I hope they reject me. But he asks me if I am done with the statement every single day and it just makes me feel… I don’t know, guilty or something.”

“Let me talk to him?” Louis offers as they turn around.

“No, he doesn’t like you.”

“Oh well, thank you so much for that! I did not just feel a dagger drive through my heart or anything, I am completely fine.”

“You  _know_  he doesn’t like you!”

“Yeah, but I never understood why.”

“He thinks you like Waliyha.”

“I do like Waliyha.”

“No, I mean you like her in the gross way,” Zayn illustrates that by making a disgusted face at him. 

“Okay if she wasn’t like my sister, I would have fallen over laughing right now.”

“If she wasn’t mine, I probably would have to.”

“Why would he think that though?” Louis wonders out loud, kicking a bit of snow.

“Maybe because you both are always whispering in a corner whenever you are at my place.”

“Oh, you mean when we are  _scheming_ ,” Louis says thoughtfully, “Oh okay. He can think whatever he wants then.”

"Scheming?" Zayn inquires.

“Yeah I can’t elaborate on that, I’d be breaking our code. But I can tell you this, that she is the best partner in crime I could have asked for.”

“I won’t say I am not offended.”

“You were good too when you held that post, we had some good days together yeah,” Louis pats him on the arm but Zayn shoves him off playfully, “But then you were elected head boy, and got caught up with your boring duties and I needed someone else you know.”

“I am not  _that_  busy.”

“Right, that is exactly why it was Wal helping me light the firecrackers in the loo and not you.”

“It was _you_  who lit those firecrackers?”

“Okay it is actually disappointing to see you question that. Like anyone else would have dared Zayn, like anyone else has brains or guts to do that!”

“Oh stop it,” Zayn almost laughs at him, shoving him in the side, “I knew it was you, didn’t know my own sister was involved though.”

“Yeah well someone had to sneak the firecrackers in, right?” Louis says, shoving Zayn back but harder, “That janitor lady checks my locker almost every day after the mice incident, I couldn’t take the risk.”

“I didn’t like that one,” Zayn tries to trip him, “Poor mice. They probably would have wondered what the fuck they were doing in a room full of screaming girls.”

“I _loved_ that one,” Louis chuckles, kicking a heap of snow towards Zayn, “Just don’t know how I got caught though. I have a feeling you told on me.”

“Talk about daggers and knives driving through my heart,” Zayn grabs a handful of snow and hurls it at Louis, with a pout, “I’d never tell on you Louis.”

“Okay you could have told me that,” Louis grabs a fist full of snow too, “Without doing this.” He tosses the snow at Zayn’s face who tries to dodge it last minute, but fails.

“I’m really not in the mood of a snowball fight, Louis,” Zayn says, smiling widely for no reason as another small mound of snow hits his left cheek causing him to curse, “Fuck, it’s cold!”

“You started it,” Louis sniggers at him, already reaching to grab more snow. But Zayn doesn’t let that happen.

He runs into Louis, grabbing him by the waist and taking him down with him. They fall on the soft bed of snow, Zayn clambering over Louis, shoving handfuls of cold, wet snow right in his face.

“You absolute dickface,” Louis growls, as he tries to throw Zayn off him simultaneously flinging all the snow his hands can reach back at Zayn’s head, who’s laughing uncontrollably above him, “Get off me!”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Zayn says, as he continues to cover Louis’ head with as much snow as he can reach just before Louis throws him off himself.

With a silent thud, Zayn lands on the ground, just beside Louis. He doesn’t even bother to get up because Louis is cursing all kinds of meaningless shit at him, half of which he can’t even decipher, and also because he just can’t stop laughing. It’s like a laughter bomb just went off inside him. He has tears in his eyes as he just lies down beside a disheveled Louis, laughing his head off. And then Louis is chortling beside him too, the sound of his laughter mashing up with Zayn’s, forming a somewhat blithe tone that fills all the vacant spaces between them.

“When the fuck are we going to start acting like adults, mate?” Louis chortles, nudging Zayn’s side with his elbow.

“Not anytime soon, I’m sure about that,” Zayn chuckles, feeling the back of his trousers dampening due to the wet layer of snow beneath him.

But it doesn’t really matter. In moments like these with his best friend, nothing really does. Except how calm and sanguine he feels, except how invincible and infinitely amazing he feels. Like the world is at his feet, as he stares at the sky with Louis breathing peacefully beside him, like they have somehow hit pause; stopped time. Everything is frozen and the possibilities are whirring around him; to _be_ something, to _do_ anything. And he just has to reach out and grab one.

“What are you thinking?” Louis asks, before the silence can begin to hang between them.

“Nothing,” he shrugs a little.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I was just thinking about how good I feel, I could lie here all my life. The world seems to have stopped.”

“See, now I wish I hadn’t asked,” Louis snorts beside him.

Zayn digs his elbow in Louis’ side, “You feel the same way, I know.”

Louis doesn’t respond to that. And that’s all the confirmation Zayn needs as he shuts his eyes and just breathes.

 —-

He’s sitting in one of the front seats, turned away from the board, facing Louis who since day one of this year has always sat behind Zayn, even though he doesn’t really like sitting right in front of the teachers. If Zayn had a choice, he probably wouldn’t have chosen to sit at the very front either but his teachers want him right in front of them because he’s the star student; their pride, their work and Zayn really has no choice. Actually, he doesn’t understand it really; he brings in all the good grades in without even trying, he really doesn’t need the attention the teachers give him. According to him, weaker students should be given that attention. They should get the seats at the front; they should be right under the teacher’s nose, not him. He can do stuff on his own, he has a good learning pace, he can get an A+ sitting at the very back of the class too, he is aware of that. But he’s head boy, and for some unknown reason, he should be right in front of the board, inches away from the teacher while the students who actually need to be in his seat, are scattered somewhere in the back.

Did he deserve to be head boy? He really doesn’t have an answer to that either. Like, he did have good grades, was a bright student who had won the school a bunch of debating and art championships. But the number of detention slips he had received couldn’t really be counted on fingers. The trouble he had caused the school, alongside Louis, was immense and well, iconic. They had nearly been suspended for putting a locker on fire (they were only trying to sneak some firecrackers in) (only god knows how they had exploded inside that locker). People talked about them, envied their ability to get away with everything, called them ‘the Weasley twins’ and that felt like such an honor if Zayn’s being honest.

So he doesn’t get it, really. He was baffled when his name was called in the assembly, and a silver badge was pinned on his chest as students clapped for him and Louis winked at him from the crowd. Louis had said that the administration wanted to give him a responsible post as an attempt to keep him in control, to give him a sense of responsibility. And maybe the principal was hoping his newfound seriousness and obedience would rub off on Louis as well, who was seen as the boy who had corrupted Zayn.  
  
Zayn doesn’t agree though. Louis hadn’t corrupted him at all. Yes, maybe he was a bit shy and quiet before he had met Louis, but Louis hadn’t corrupted him. Louis had just smashed the shell Zayn had been living in, he had given Zayn the confidence Zayn didn’t know he possessed. He had given Zayn a sidekick, a partner in crime, someone who’d always had his back, no matter what. And maybe that is why Zayn had befriended him, he saw a part of himself in Louis. The part of himself that he had buried somewhere deep inside. Louis was living that part out in the open, in front of everyone, reckless and unafraid of the world. Louis made him brave, Louis made him enjoy, Louis made him live. Louis made him feel safer in his own skin because Louis knew who he actually was deep inside and Louis didn’t judge him for it. Didn’t judge the little scared boy that resided inside him, didn’t give a shit if he reeked of burnt cigarettes half the time and didn’t make him feel like the odd one out. And that’s all that you really need in a friend, isn’t it?

“Okay, sometimes when I am talking to you about really important stuff, I don’t think you’re actually listening,” Louis flicks a pencil at him.

It hits him square on the forehead making him wince, then falls on Louis’ desk between them.

“Telling me how many times you wanked yesterday, isn’t really important stuff,” he rolls his eyes at Louis.

“Well, it is to me,” Louis says.

“Yeah okay, but get this, I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Who else am I gonna tell then?”

“Lou, nobody wants to hear about your wanking routine!”

“Yeah well, then you’d also not want to know what exactly I wanked to yesterday,” Louis sighs, leaning back into his chair with his arms folding above his chest.

“I don’t,” Zayn says a bit too quickly.

“Fine then,” Louis fakes another sigh, “I’ll have to delete whatever I downloaded. It would be such a waste though. Like this guy had this real sexy dragon tattoo on his back and the size of his dick was like-”

“Shut up,” Zayn says sternly, his eyes search the room to check if anybody has heard Louis. Thankfully, just like them, everyone is busy having hushed conversations with their friends, the teacher still not in the class.

“Nobody’s listening Zaynie,” Louis comments, but he steals a glance around him and leans forward to get closer to Zayn anyway.

“I’ve asked you so many times not to say stuff like when people are around, I can’t risk anybody finding out,” Zayn says, “You know that!”

“Okay I’m sorry. But it’s not like someone was listening and even if they were, nobody in this class is intelligent enough to understand what I was saying anyway.”

“Louis, this is not a joke.”

“I know, I am really not joking.”

“If you ever say anything like that again in public, I am not going to talk to you for three whole days.”

“I’ll look forward to that,” Louis sniggers at him.

“Louis.”

“Okay, I won’t say anything like that in public again because I care about you and I don’t want your dad to kill you because you’re gay.”

“LOUIS!”

Irritated heads turn towards them as Zayn bites his tongue, he hadn’t really meant to shout but Louis is just so fucking impossible and now students are looking at him as if he just interrupted some life-changing discussions they were having.

“I’m sorry guys,” Louis says to them even before Zayn can come up with words, “He had to shout like that ‘cuz I am a bit short of hearing today. Got some water stuck in my ear wanking for the fifth time in the shower last night.”

Chuckles echo in the classroom, as Zayn focuses all his attention to doodling on the corner of Louis’ desk, “You’re a maniac, Tomlinson!”

“I’m aware, Aiden,” Louis shouts back before turning back to Zayn, “So what were you saying about my wanking routine being uninteresting?”

“Bugger off,” Zayn flips him off.

“So you aren’t gonna thank me then?”

“What for?” Zayn asks, not looking up at Louis because he is kind of embarrassed.

“For saving your ass just now.”

“Thank you for saving my ass just now,” Zayn snorts.

“Ah, we are best friends my lad,” Louis pats Zayn’s head, “We don’t thank each other! How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“You get on my nerves.”

“That’s why god sent me.”

“More like threw you down, banished you from heaven.”

“Nice, I have taught you well,” Louis says, smudging Zayn’s doodles with his fingers to irritate him. Zayn hits the back of his hand with his pencil.

“Ow,” Louis tries to smack him on the head but Zayn dodges his hands with ease, poking his tongue out at him.

Then they hear footsteps approaching and the students hastily shift in their seats to face the whiteboard. In less than a minute, the entire class room grows quiet as everyone sits and waits for their teacher. Only that their balding professor isn’t the one who enters the classroom, a boy enters instead; neat pressed uniform, black tie properly tied around the neck, the black school blazer with the light blue logo on it and a badge like Zayn’s , only its says School Prefect instead of Head Boy. There is a pile of papers in his hands, a neat mop of chocolate brown hair standing in a mohawk above a wide, crinkled forehead. Zayn recognizes him (obviously he does); a vague ‘Liam’ says a little voice in his head, and he shuts it down immediately.

“Umm, hi,” the boy begins, “I’m Liam. Like some of you might already know. Anyway, I’m here to inform you that Mr. Rickman isn’t going to take the class today because the teachers are in a school meeting. So I will be supervising today’s class, and Mr. Rickman asked me to hand out these worksheets that you have to finish and hand in by the end of this lesson.”

Zayn hears Louis snort behind him and he suppresses a grin.

“Also,” Liam continues, “The teachers have asked for the head boy and head girl to join them in the staff room. So, if-”

“Okay, that’s it,” Louis says cutting Liam short as he gets up from his seat and slings the strap of his bag over his shoulder, “There is no way in hell I’m staying in this class without Zayn.”

Zayn grins, sliding his pencil behind his ear and grabbing his own bag as he stands up.

“But the teachers asked only for the head boy,” Liam says.

“Yeah well, I’m his personal assistant. He can’t function without me,” Louis explains, “Zayn tell him.”

“I can’t function without him,” Zayn shrugs at Liam.

“I’m sorry but I’ll have to write you a detention slip if you leave this classroom,” Liam ignores him completely, his warning eyes on Louis.

“Write me seven,” Louis shoots back without blinking and then he’s walking past Zayn and out of the classroom.

“And you’re just going to let him do that?”

Zayn doesn’t realize the question is for him until he looks back at Liam and finds him staring at him.

“Me? Stop him?” Zayn asks, raising his eyebrows.

“You _are_ the head boy aren’t you?” Liam asks, venomous.

“Yeah I am,” Zayn replies, narrowing his eyes at Liam’s condescending tone, “Which makes him the head boy’s best friend, so he gets the privilege of getting away with things. Have fun writing the detention slips!”

And then he’s tracing Louis’ footsteps and walking out the door, nearly bumping into none other than Louis himself, who’s apparently waiting for him, leaning against the wall beside the doorway.

“That was cool,” Louis winks at him, “And kinda mean coming from you. But cool.”

Zayn ignores him and starts taking long steps towards the staff room, he doesn’t want to feel that guilt-like feeling trying to gnaw away at his heart.

“Hey hey,” Louis skips to catch up to him, “There is no need to regret anything okay, he was asking for it!”

He needs to know why and how Louis knows him so well; when words stopped being a necessity.  
  
“Also we don’t have to feel sorry because we dislike that guy anyway,” Louis says when Zayn doesn’t respond.

“I don’t,” Zayn says before he can even think.

“Yeah exactly, and I don’t know why you don’t,” Louis says, “Or how you were even friends with him once, he’s such a- he’s very- he’s not like you at all. Also, he’s very rude and a complete spoilsport.”  
  
“You don’t even know him Louis,” Zayn mutters, and he has no reason to be defensive, but he does it anyway.  
  
“Yeah and you do? You do know why he suddenly stopped talking to you and treated you like he didn’t know you? Because really, it’s been eight to nine years since he did that and I myself still don’t fucking know why,” Louis says, and Zayn wishes he hadn’t because it stings.  
  
“Lou, I don’t care,” Zayn says, or lies, he doesn’t know. It’s somewhere in between the truth and false.  
  
“Okay if you say so,” Louis gives up, “I really did like how you answered back to him back there though. I mean I didn’t know I had the privilege of getting away with things. Which brings me to the more pressing question, what should I do first, put a beehive in the principal’s office or dress up as a professor and go take an O-level science class? Or should I put something in Liam’s locker just to mess with him?”

“Lou, please don’t do any of those,” Zayn looks at him sternly, but starts to grin because Louis looks so eager and Zayn knows he’s going to do one of those anyway, “Okay dress up as a professor. But please don’t get caught.”

“Even if I do, you're going to get me out of it, so no worries there,” Louis ends with a sing song voice, as he parts his way from Zayn, waving to him as he skips down the hallway. Zayn waves back, before pushing the door of the staff room open and disappearing inside.

—-  
  
After about 15 minutes of searching for Louis, Zayn isn't surprised to finally find him in the basketball court. It's a Thursday; Louis is always in the basketball court during recess on Thursdays. And no, it isn't because he plays the sport; Louis won't touch a ball if it's not a one that he can kick around a field and into a goal post. And neither is Louis interested in watching the game. To be frank, he'd rather die than watch random people put a ball through hoops.

It's because Louis is interested in an entirely different aspect of the game, and by aspect, he means the team captain; the gold player, the miracle birthed by Westate High, the star student who hasn’t lost a single game ever since he took the lead: Harry Styles. And Zayn doesn’t blame Louis at all because considering the way Harry dresses, carries himself and communicates just at the age of seventeen - anyone would have a soft spot for him. He is the word sophisticated in human form. He is a charmer, always part of whatever the girls whisper to each other during class. But that isn't the best part, that isn't why Louis (and nearly everyone) feels so drawn towards him, it's actually because Harry is the nicest, the most polite person Zayn has ever encountered in his life. Harry Styles walks with an air of unmatched supremacy, but a helpless student in the hallway can transform him into a considerate, concerned person in a second, ‘Are you alright? Who did this to you? You can tell me, I’ll try to do something about it, okay you can always tell me.’

And Zayn knows (believes) that because he and Louis had witnessed such a scene firsthand somewhere during last year. Louis already liked Harry then because he had won them the first game in years and his face was splattered on all the bulletin boards of their school and Louis knew beauty when he saw it, but when he saw Harry helping a boy to his knees and gather all his books from the ground proceeding to hand them to him in a neat pile, Louis breathed out a, ‘Fuck, shit.’ And Zayn saw his reluctant little crush on Harry transform into a much more serious one.

So during Monday and Thursday afternoons, Louis sits here in the stadium, in one of the very top tiers, with his books scattered idly around him. Untouched and unread, because Louis’ eyes are on the sweaty captain. Today, Harry has his long hair tied in a bun above his head as he stands in a circle with his team, all of them in their black shirts and light blue shorts, discussing something intently. And Louis’ eyes, remain focused only on Harry.

“I knew you’d be here,” Zayn says, plopping down beside Louis and grabbing the soda can lying beside him.

“Hey,” Louis says his eyes still on Harry, “How was the meeting?”

“Boring and lengthy,” Zayn says, popping the soda open and taking a sip, “I didn’t know Higgins could talk that much.”

“What was it about?” still doesn’t look at Zayn.

“Spring break is going to be early this year, end of February. And they’ve decided to hold the Winterball before the spring break this year. So that we can only focus on our studies during and after it. Since we’ve got mocks a week after spring break, and the finals soon after.”

“That’s smart.”

“Yeah I know, except that sitting and listening to Higgins drone about it, for I don’t know how many minutes, was excruciating.”

“I can only imagine, you were gone for like two hours at least-”

“Yeah after the meeting I had to gather all the prefects, tell them to put flyers and posters all around the school and shit like that so, that took time.”

“Anyway, we missed three classes.”

“We?”

Sighing, Louis finally averts his gaze from Harry to Zayn, “Seriously? You want me to sit in literature and physics without you? I’d get expelled in a second.”

“Expelled?”

“Because I’ll end up throwing something at the professor’s face out of boredom, if you’re not there to distract me. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to not interrupt my- well, stargazing,” Louis says, before his eyes search for and stop on Harry again.  
  
“You should ask him out for the winter dance thing,” Zayn suggests, flipping the pages of Louis’ geography book with languid fingers.

Louis looks at him again, incredulity on his face, “You seriously want me to do that?”

“Yeah,” Zayn shrugs, “Why not?

“Because, I don’t know,” Louis says, “Maybe he is Liam’s best friend. And I don’t fuck with Liam or anybody who has anything to do with him. Not after what he did to you. At least, not until he gives me a valid reason why he did that.”

“Are you serious?” Zayn asks, stunned because he didn’t know Louis would not ask his first and only crush out just because some guy had made Zayn miserable back in fourth or fifth grade.

“You underestimate my love for you bro,” Louis shoots back, like he is suddenly offended and Zayn doesn’t know exactly what he feels right now. He’s overcome with emotion because Louis cares about him so much, but he’s also guilty because knowing Louis, he knows Louis would have done something about Harry by now. If it weren’t for Zayn’s indistinct issues with Liam holding him back.

“Don’t stare at me like I have just invented a time machine, Zain. It’s not very hard to see what would happen if I and Harry were dating,” Louis points at his bum as if he’s stating a fact, “Harry will start hanging with us, Liam will hang with Harry and I don’t want Liam fucking you up again. Do you want that? Do you seriously want him back into-”

“No,” is out of Zayn’s mouth even before he can think.

“Exactly.”

“But you don’t have to do-”

“I know, but I still will.”

Zayn looks at him, square in the face. He really doesn’t want to leave Louis ever, he wants this friend until the end of time; he has fallen in love with Louis. No, not like that, no. No. Once Zayn read in a book, how every boy falls in love before they find their next, true love, the one they marry. Every boy’s first love is another boy; their best friend, their brother, the one they know they’d be willing to die for, the one a romantic life partner can’t replace. And that’s Louis for Zayn. And clearly, that’s Zayn for Louis too.

“I love you, man,” so Zayn tells Louis because he wants to.

And Louis throws a book at his face, grabbing the soda from his hand as he turns back to staring shamelessly at Harry, “Good, because you’re getting me out of detention after school today.”

—-  
  
Three knocks on his bedroom door break the silence in his room, as he puts his pencil down, shuts his math book and grunts because he has to get up and unlock the door to let whoever it is in. Normally, he doesn’t keep his door locked but a few minutes ago his lungs had itched for a smoke and he doesn’t want his mom finding out that he had lied when he said he had quit.

It’s Waliyha, who enters his room the moment he opens the door and makes a beeline for his bed, jumping on it with a journal in her hand without an explanation. And he doesn’t ask why she is here because this isn’t new. He just shuts the door back and leans against it; arms folded waiting for her to tell him what she wants.

“Baba was asking if you had finished your college essay or whatever,” she tells him, tapping her pencil on the hard journal cover.

“Yeah but that’s not why you’re here,” Zayn grins at her.  
  
“I need help with my homework?” Waliyha tries, but Zayn knows that’s not what she wants. She has a mind like Zayn’s, she doesn’t ever need help with her homework.

“Seriously, what do you want? I have three classes worth of work to finish and you’re wasting my time.”  
  
“Okay,” Waliyha says, “You know that senior winter dance about which everyone was talking about today?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Well, who are you taking to that dance?”  
  
“I haven’t thought of anyone yet,” Zayn tells her, his family already does know he doesn’t have a girlfriend.  
  
“When are you gonna decide then?”  
  
“I don’t know, I mean I’ll just go alone or just skip it with Louis.”  
  
“Or, you could take me.”  
  
Zayn looks at her, his eyebrows raised because he can’t really believe what he’s hearing right now.

“You’re my sister.”

“Yeah I know, but I can go with you right? It’s not like you have a girlfriend, plus taking your little sister would be such a nice thing to do, girls dig boys who love their sisters so much,” she says, excitement in her eyes.

“I’m not taking you, you’re not even allowed, you’re an O-level student,” Zayn says.

“That’s what makes it even sweeter, I can tell everyone how you’re such a nice big brother, who sacrificed his own happiness for me and brought me along instead of a real date because I wanted to come,” she suggests, “They’ll swoon.”

“I don’t want anyone to swoon over me,” he says, “And I'm not taking you to the dance.”

“Please, please, please? All my friends are going; I’ll be the only one not going!”

“How are all your friends going? Their brothers taking them?”

“No, they’re apparently into older boys or whatever, you should actually be glad that I’m not dating a senior.”

“I’m glad, but I am also not taking you.”

“Bhai, please!”

“Don’t make that face,” Zayn says.

“Bhai,” Waliyha is pouting now.

But he doesn’t really care, because he’s not taking Waliyha. Firstly, because he doesn’t want her surrounded with all his friends and secondly because taking her would just be weird. She is his sister and he doesn’t understand why she comes up with these crazy ideas.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Okay then, don’t complain then when I’m there with someone else,” she says, getting up from his bed and walking haughtily towards him, “Get aside, I have to go.”  
  
He doesn’t move, keeps leaning against the door, “Who’ll you come with?”  
  
“I’ll find someone who doesn’t have a date yet, also there’s Palvasha’s brother,” she says.  
  
“Really, you don’t want to date a senior,” he tells her, because he doesn’t trust any senior, “And who’s this Palvasha’s brother and why do you know him?”

“Who said anything about dating? I just need someone to get me in,” she says, ignoring the other question, “And you can do that because you’re head boy and also my brother but I know you won’t.”

“I won’t let you in either,” he says, “You don’t know, those parties can get wild because the teachers don’t bother to attend and the chaperones are too busy getting drunk or ogling at girls.”

“I can take care of myself,” she says, a firm hand on her waist and Zayn would be lying if her intense, determined eyes don’t remind him of himself.

“You’re only fifteen,” he states.

“Don’t be a hypocrite, bhai. I know Lou and you have sneaked into all senior dances since the last five years!”

“Who told you that?”

“I am smarter than you think I am. And you should be grateful actually, because I didn’t tell mum.”

“Thank you for not telling mum,” he says.

“Now move.”

“But you’re not coming to the dance.”

“We’ll see about that,” she rolls her eyes, and then physically tries to move him when he just keeps staring at her questioningly. He complies, leaving the doorway as she kicks his door open.

“I won’t let you enter,” he warns her, one last try. Why can’t she understand he’s only looking out for her?

“I will tell Baba how you aren’t interested in engineering,” she smirks at him, jogging over to her own room before he can reply to that.

‘She really is a younger version of you,’ a little voice inside him says and he can feel his lips curving into a proud smile, as he shuts the door and returns to his math work.  
  
—-  
  
“I can’t believe I am best friends with the biggest, hugest, most boring nerd on the fucking planet,” Louis says, trying his level best to distract Zayn from working, “I brought you here to relax, Zayn, I didn’t bring you here to write a paper!”  
  
He doesn’t acknowledge Louis at all, he knows that Louis won’t mind and will eventually forgive him. It was actually pretty sick of Louis to bring him here, he likes working away from home where his little sister isn’t blasting ‘Burnin' Up’ in her room and his mother isn’t barging in his room with a bowl of fruit because he looks malnourished and he’s got bags under his eyes. And this little coffee place where he is sat at is quiet and peaceful at all times. The strong aroma of freshly brewed beverages in the air, and a comfortable atmosphere that allows him to pay full attention and get rid of all his homework in minutes.  
  
“Zayyyynnnnnnn,” Louis drones again, tapping the top of his laptop screen with a wooden spoon, “Stop working. It’s fucking Friday!”

“Just give me like 15 more minutes, I am on the last paragraph,” he requests, eyes focused on the screen, fingers typing out ‘Macbeth’s’ intentions at top speed.

“You can do this tomorrow,” Louis says.

“No, I have to be at school tomorrow almost all day because as the head boy, I am supposed to be helping with the stupid dance!”

“Wow, I feel sorry for you bro. That’ll be boring as hell.”

“Like I don’t know it,” Zayn states plainly.

“Okay, you get 15 more minutes then,” Louis says, and Zayn hears him shift to get out of his seat, “Meanwhile, I’ll go check why our orders are taking so long.”

“Mm, kay,” Zayn mumbles, as he hears Louis walk away and continues to type furiously.  
  
He knows he has to finish this essay before Louis comes back, because once he does, no matter how many minutes later, he isn’t going to let Zayn work anymore. And maybe yeah, Zayn is being a dick or a shameless, ungrateful friend but can anybody really blame him? He hasn’t had this much work to do over the weekend ever; he has to complete everything he has missed because of the council meetings, he has to hand in the shit load of homework by Monday and he has to prepare for all the pop quizzes their professors keep surprising them with. He doesn’t really know how he’ll manage all that but he’s still hopeful.

More than 15 minutes later, when he has packed up his laptop already and is waiting for Louis, Louis comes back. And his hands are free of the cups of tea he had been waiting for, so Zayn asks, “Where’s the coffee?”

“Apparently, there is a new boy they have hired and he didn’t know our regulars, so I was explaining it to him,” Louis grumbles, annoyance clear on his face, “God, is he slow learner. Screwed up the order two times and then forgot what I was even asking for.”

“We could just go for tea at that place you work at,” Zayn says, “I’m done with my essay anyway.”  
  
“Yeah, so that you can get free stuff and then I get yelled at later for giving out too many free snacks?” Louis raises his eyebrows at him, “Thanks but no.”

He is about to say something to Louis when they’re interrupted by a thick voice, “Here’s your tea, lads.”

Then two mugs of tea are placed on the table between him and Louis as he looks up to find a young, blond boy staring back at him, a silver tag on his blue shirt reading ‘NIALL’ in black, bold letters.

“Thanks,” he says, and smiles at the boy who definitely looks younger than him, an energetic touch to his bright, sunny face.

“For making us wait for 84 years,” Louis snorts and the boy’s, Niall’s, wide grin falters significantly.  
  
“M’sorry, really so sorry,” he turns to Louis, bursting into a explanation that Zayn knows Louis doesn’t really want, “M’new here and please don’t tell on me, I am tryi-”

“Yeah yeah, save it kid, its okay,” Louis says, and Zayn can see the embarrassment on his face, “I was kidding, really. It’s fine. I didn’t mean that.”

“Yeah, he has a knack of cracking jokes that only he finds funny,” Zayn tells Niall, just because he can’t take the uneasiness that Niall is showcasing at the moment, “He’s better and nicer once you get to know him. I’m Zayn by the way.”

He offers his hand for Niall to shake; if they’re going to keep coming here he might as well make a friend who could get them those drinks at a lower price. However, he doesn’t think that’s going to happen with Niall, judging from the way Niall’s eyes have turned into round saucers of surprise or shock or disgust, as he just stares shamelessly at Zayn, leaving his outstretched hand untouched.

“Zayn Malik? Are you Zayn Malik?” Niall asks.

“Um, yeah he is,” Louis replies for him, his voice guarded and ready to strike if Niall goes somewhere unwanted with this conversation, “Why? You got a problem with that?”  
  
“How do you know my full name?” Zayn asks, before Niall can respond to Louis’ useless inquiry.  
  
“Um,” Niall fidgets, “I- nothing, I should just get back to work, my manager will fire me if he knew I was- uh I need to go back,” and with that he’s turning around and beginning to walk away.

“No no,” and the next second, Louis is out of his seat, blocking Niall’s way, an inquisitive, determined look plastered on his face, “You’re not leaving until you tell us how you know my friend? Are you a stalker? Are you in love with him? Tell me.”  
  
He stands up too, joining Louis as he stares questioningly at Niall, waiting for an answer, because this is straight up creepy. A random guy who he has never met before asks him his full name and then tries to leave, looking nervous and guilty of something – he isn’t letting this go. Well, at least Louis isn’t even if he does.

Niall’s eyes shift from him to Louis, as he bites his bottom lip in palpable discomfort before he sighs in defeat and says, “Alright, I heard about you.”

“From where?” Louis asks instantly.

“You’re the head boy at Westate High,” Niall looks at him, then at Louis, “And you’re his best friend, Louis. I know.”

“Do you go to our school?” Zayn asks, because he sure as hell has never seen him. But then he hasn’t really seen a lot of students who go to school with him.

“No, but I am planning to,” Niall explains, “I kind of had to drop out of school and come here from Ireland, family stuff and all. So I am starting school again, but like next year. But my friends already go there and they were talking about you two.”

“Who are your friends?” Louis asks, his previously cold voice has seemed to have softened down a bit.

“Uh,” Niall bites his lip again, and Zayn isn’t exactly expecting him to reply but he does, “Greg Horan and Denise Kelly.”

Honest to god, Zayn has never heard of these kids but then again, he only really gives a shit about Louis when at school. The silence from Louis conveys that he hasn’t heard of these students either.

“We’ve never heard of them,” he says.

“They’re doing their O-levels,” Niall adds, “Irish also, maybe you have seen them but you don’t know their names.”

“Could be,” Louis shrugs.

“Yeah, so that’s it. M’not a stalker and I’m definitely not in love with ya,” Niall says to him, almost rolling his eyes.

“So what were these friends of yours saying about us?” Louis asks.

“Nothing much, really. Just how you two are inseparable and used to cause havoc in school with practical jokes and shit like that,” Niall explains.

“Ah, okay,” Louis finally says, “That’s fine then, nothing wrong with discussing true, infamous events. You’re a nice lad, Niall. I wish you could’ve joined Westate while we were still there, then we could start our own cult and stuff.”

Louis pats Niall lightly on the back as he goes back to take his seat, beckoning for Zayn to follow him.

“I’ll be still here, seven days a week, and if you guys come here a lot we could be friends,” Niall offers hurriedly, and the fact that he doesn’t care if he’s coming off as being desperate is somewhat amusing but also a bit sad.

“Sure,” Louis says instantly, ignoring Zayn’s warning glance completely, “We do come here a lot; I can see us becoming friends.”

Zayn watches as Niall’s face brightens up and he flashes them a huge grin which for some reason doesn’t sit with him well.

“I am already excited, you guys could tell me all about Westate High,” Niall beams at them, “Now enjoy your coffee, if you need anything else, just call for me.”

And then he’s flashing them one last smile and turning on his heel, to go back to where he came from. Zayn turns to Louis, a stern expression on his face.

“What the fuck was that?” he asks.

“What the fuck was what?” Louis asks, stirring his tea.

“We barely know him, we haven’t ever seen him ever before,” he starts, “You can’t just invite him to be your friend!”

“Okay, but I wasn't the first one to introduce myself and shake his fucking hand?”

“That was before he started acting all creepy and strange!”

“Well, strange or not, I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” Louis states matter-of-factly, “He’s just a lad, I could take him down if he tries anything on you, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Besides, he can get us discounts on coffee. Now don’t you want to save up a little in case your dad kicks you out and we have to buy an apartment together?”

“Why would my dad kick me out?”

“Because you’re going to man up and tell him you don’t want to go to BUTE.”

“You know I won’t do that,” he says, somewhat impressed at how Louis has changed the subject in a second.

“So you’re going to let him ruin your life?” Louis asks.

“He’s my dad, he isn’t ruining my life,” he says.

“He’s forcing his family traditions on you, he doesn’t care about what you want to do with your life,” Louis says.

“Still, he isn’t ruining my life.”

“Repeating a sentence won’t make it any less true.”

“Louis.”

“Okay, I’ll stop bugging you because I don’t like that expression on your face,” Louis sighs, “But I’m also not going to stop bringing this up every chance I get because I can’t sit here and watch you throw your life to hell.”

—-  
  
He despises family dinners. He didn’t before, but now he’d rather stay in his room with a platter of food on his lap than sit with his family and listen to his father’s expectations of him, listen to his father how busy and enlightening life at BUTE is going to be – “I didn’t get time to breathe I swear, but at the same time I was learning from the brightest minds in science. It was brilliant, and I am so happy that you are finally going to live it. My friends would be in awe when I tell them; I can’t wait to look at the expressions on their faces.”  
  
Waliyha keeps smirking at him from across the table, because she knows he is more into music and art, knows that he doesn’t give two shits about science. Doniyah keeps rolling her eyes, her fingers working on the iPad on her lap, since her father can’t stop talking about the university and her work can’t stop for this conversation. Safaa is too young to care, probably doesn’t even know what her father is talking about, way more interested in sneakily shifting food into Doniyah’s plate from her own. And his mother keeps throwing him knowing glances, because just like Waliyha she knows. Yet, she can’t do anything about it because if she could, she would have done it when Doniyah was sent to medical college instead of a fashion institute. Now she runs a fashion blog, that her father doesn’t know about, after she comes back from her college, somewhere around eight in the evening. Zayn doesn’t think running a music blog could ever suffice for him.  
  
His hands itch for a cigarette, as his father drones on and on. He keeps sending his mother imploring glances, begging her to stop his father from talking. She keeps biting her lip, until she herself has had enough, “Yaser darling, have you told the kids about the holiday you’re planning yet?”

Yaser stops midsentence, looks at Trisha, then back at his kids with a huge smile on his face, “Oh yes, guess where we are going for spring break this year?”

“Disneyland! Disneyland! Disneyland!” chants Safaa.

“That’s too far away, Saf,” Yaser tells her, “We’ll try to go there in the summers, beta.”

“But baba!”

And then Yaser goes on trying to convince a whiny Safaa how it’s very impractical to travel all the way to Disneyland in the middle of a school year, carrying on to explain where they’re actually going for a mini vacation. Some lavish, expensive resort near Wolverhampton that Yaser has already booked for an entire month for them. His father takes family vacations very seriously, just like every other Malik tradition.

“-and we leave a day before spring break starts.”

“I definitely can’t go then,” Waliyha says, for whatever reason, causing her father to look at her.

“I can’t go either,” Zayn says and everyone turns to look at him.

“I’ll come back to you later,” Yaser tells Waliyha before turning to Zayn, “Why can’t you go?”

“I have exams dad, right after spring break I have mocks, and I need to focus on that,” Zayns says, “I need to score well in mocks in order to get an early admission in a good university, you know that.”

“Oh,” Yaser’s face drops, but Zayn knows he won’t force Zayn to go, Yaser doesn’t compromise when it comes to his children’s education, especially Zayn’s, “Can you not prepare for them before the holidays?”

“Spring break starts in a week baba, I can’t cover the entire syllabus in a week. And I have a lot to cover, entire books actually,” he lies, he has already covered everything, he has already prepared for his exams, he has always been like that, ahead of time. But if he is being given a chance to get a break from his dad for some time, he is most definitely going to grab it.

“Alright then, you can stay back then,” Yaser says, “I’ll ask someone to come and check up on you, make sure you’re safe and have everything you need.”

“It’s okay really,” he says, “I’ll just ask Louis to come over. That way we can study together and I’ll also have company.”

Zayn can see how hard Yaser tries to not make that face he makes when Louis is mentioned, but he agrees, “Yes, okay that’s fine, if that suits you better. And now, Waliyha, do you have exams to prepare for as well?”

“No, but I have to go to the dance!” Waliyha says.

“I thought O-level students weren’t allowed to go to the dance,” Doniyah looks up from her lap.

“They aren't. She wants me to take her because all her friends are going,” Zayn answers, “What she doesn’t know is how wild and old everyone is in there, I am actually not going myself.”  
  
He knows Waliyha is shooting death glares at him at the moment so he cinch tell ignores her. He doesn't want her to stay back with him, he doesn't want to spend time watching over her all the time.

“I see no reason for you to attend the dance beta,” Yaser states.

“But baba, all my friends are going!”

And Zayn doesn’t know for how long Waliyha and Yaser bicker, all he knows is that he can’t wait for the dance, can’t wait for his family to go and can’t wait to spend some days, free of all care, chilling with Louis.

—-  
  
“What do you mean your family is going away for spring break?!” Louis asks next day during lunch.

They’re sat in the cafeteria, on the table right in the middle, across from each other, two cokes and a box of chips between them. Students are scattered around them, eating lunch, busy talking, the likes.

“Well, my family is going but I am not, so you don’t have to look so horrified,” Zayn says.

“Yeah but your family is going which means Waliyha is going!”

“And what's so horrifying about that?”

“You don’t know?” Louis asks.

“Know what?” he asks.

“We had a deal, me and Wal.”

“Okay, what deal was it now?”

“I was going to take her to the dance and in exchange she was going to find out a certain piece of information for me.”

Zayn is mildly amused, “So when I told her I wouldn't take her, she went to you? That’s why she backed down so easily!”

“Well, I am like her other cooler, smarter, handsomer brother you know. So who else was she going to come to?” Louis smirks.

Zayn flicks a chip at him, “I would be concerned but now I'm really not, since she's not going to be here anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, bask in my misery! Now I’ll have to go to the dance alone.”

“Louis, there are plenty of other students all around you,” Zayn says.

“And yet, none of them is worth my time,” Louis says.

“Not even Harry?” Zayn smirks.

Louis lets out a dramatic sigh, “Okay for the one hundredth and twenty sixth time, 1. I am not going to go out with him because his best friend is such a dick, and 2. I am never going to ask him out because I don’t handle rejection very well.”

“You seriously think he’s going to reject you?” Zayn asks, surprised.

“Have you like, seen him?” Louis deadpans, “If I am like one hundred percent handsome, he’s like two hundred and fifty or something.”

Zayn laughs, “Yeah but that doesn't necessarily mean he'll reject you.”

“Yeah I know that, he’s too nice to do that,” Louis says, “But he won’t go out with me if he isn’t single now would he?”

“So why don't you find out whether he's single or not?” Zayn asks.  
“That was what Waliyha was going to find out for me in exchange of me taking her to the dance.”

“Good god,” Zayn sighs, “You’re corrupting my sister.”

“I am really not,” Louis says, “She has been helping me build up my Styles File since ages now, and it was her idea to collect as much information about Harry as I could, because a guy can’t be just that nice for no reason. He has to have a deep dark secret and I am going to find it out and then get over him.”

“You have a Styles File?” Zayn asks, trying his level best not to laugh at Louis.

“Yeah I do okay, so what, it’s not like I am doing anything wrong, right?” Louis is clearly flustered, and Zayn isn’t surprised when he changes the subject, “Anyway enough about me okay, let’s talk about you for a bit. Who are you going to the dance with?”

“I asked Lauren to come with me,” Zayn tells him.

Before Louis can respond, there is a loud noise behind them, something colliding with the floor hard and Zayn jumps in his seat, turning around to see what happened. There is a boy bent over a mess of chips and salad, his food tray lying upside down on the marble floor, just an arm’s length away from Zayn. He begins to get up to help the boy, but then his eyes fall on the four chevrons tattooed up the boy’s right forearm and he automatically sinks back into his chair.

“Clumsy, are we?”

Zayn’s blood runs cold at that and he jerks his face around to stare at Louis. He shoots him a death glare followed by an aggressive whisper, “Louis, no. Please.”

But either Louis doesn’t hear him or decides to ignore him because he is already out of his seat, looking down at Liam, sneering, “Perfect school boy, with his manners and stuck up priorities isn’t so perfect after all, is he now?”

Zayn doesn’t even know what to do so he just keeps sitting, back turned towards Liam, face towards Louis. And hands balled into fists on the table. He waits for Liam to reply wishes Liam would just stand up and walk away, not give Louis a chance to humiliate him more. Because now people are watching and that will only rile Louis up.

“What's the matter golden boy? You only got a tongue when you’ve got to flaunt your authority over us, huh?” Louis says.

Liam still says nothing. Louis’ line of sight tells Zayn he is still on the floor. Zayn wants to get up and help Liam, he does. He doesn’t know why, he can never grasp how he still doesn’t hate Liam after all that happened. But he knows that Liam does; Liam despises him and offering to help him would be equivalent to smashing his own foot with a hammer.

“Tightening your knuckles over the tray are ya?” Louis chuckles, “Is that all you can do? Really, I didn’t know Liam you didn’t have the guts to speak up without a teacher around to protect your ass.”

Zayn doesn’t understand why Louis is trying to get a reaction out of Liam, because if he’s being honest, Liam could send Louis flying out the window with just a single punch. He’s visibly stronger, taller, much more fit and muscular than half the student population in his school, more than Zayn could ever be himself.

“C’mon big boy,” Louis starts again, “Tell me, is throwing people out your life for no reason and being a snob the only things you’re good at?”

That’s too much, that’s personal, and it makes Zayn sling his bag over his shoulder, gets out of his chair to walk up to Louis. He makes sure not to glance at Liam as he grabs Louis’ right arm to drag him away.

“C’mon lets go,” he says in a low firm voice.

Louis doesn’t budge, “No wait a second Zayn, I just remembered all the detention slips Mr. I Wish I Was Head Boy has issued me. Let me thank him for those, wait a second, yeah. It must suck Liam, doesn’t it? It must suck to see Zayn be better than you, be more liked by the staff, be more liked by everybody. Turns out, I’m not the only one who thinks you’re a snob with a stick up yo-”

“Say one more word Tomlinson, I dare you.”

It’s not Liam’s voice, and no Zayn doesn’t know what Liam’s voice sounds like since the last time they had held a proper conversation, they were like eleven or something, but he knows it’s not that deep. And the way Louis’s eyes have widened is reason enough for Zayn to finally turn his head towards where Liam is.

It’s Harry. He has probably just entered the cafeteria judging from the sweat glistening on his forehead and the jersey clutched in his right hand. He is coming towards Louis, crossing Liam until he’s between where Zayn and Louis and where Liam is picking up chips from the floor, obscuring Liam from view.

“Come on say it,” Harry says again, he’s staring straight at Louis, his shoulders broad and posture straight and firm, ignoring Zayn’s existence and Louis is clearly at a loss for words, “Say what else is on your mind.”

“You- you know my name?” Louis in awe, surprising not only Harry but Zayn as well.

Harry’s scowl turns into a frown at that. Liam, behind Harry, is on his feet now, tray in his hand, his school blazer slung on his arm, eyes on his feet. Zayn wants to drag Louis away but it seems like the ground is holding Louis in place.

“What?” Harry asks.

“You know my name,” Louis states this time.

“Why wouldn’t I know your name?” Harry asks, clearly confused, “Everyone knows your name.”

Louis doesn’t have an answer to that apparently or maybe he has just realized how stupid he's being. It’s so awkward, what is happening, students are turning back to whatever they were doing and Zayn is just standing there hand  clutched around Louis’ elbow, figuring out what to do.

“Why are you so mean all the time?” Harry asks next, looking at Louis, “Like you look like a good guy so why are you having a go at my friend for no reason.”

“You don’t know what he did to my friend,” Louis says immediately, maybe his momentary relapse is over or maybe he just wants Harry to know he’s not really mean.  
  
“Listen, I don’t care what he did to your friend,” it’s weird how they're talking about Zayn yet neither of them are acknowledging his presence,  he feels so out of place, “And to be honest, neither should you. If your friend has a problem with Liam, he can handle it himself, why are _you_ being a jerk?”

“I-,” Louis says, “Because I am his best friend. Wouldn’t you do it for Liam?”

That shuts up Harry for a moment, Zayn swears he gives Zayn a millisecond short glance even, and then he says, “Well, I wouldn’t be mean to anyone, I am pretty sure about that.”  
  
“Alright, I am sorry, I did get carried away,” Louis says.

“I am not the one you should be saying sorry to,” Harry says.

“I am not apologizing to Liam,” Louis laughs dryly.

“Then there is no need for you to apologize at all, props to you for being a jerk,” Harry says, and then Harry is turning around, walking towards Liam.

Zayn waits for Louis to surrender, to apologize, to not lose this one chance he's gotten to get into Harry's good books. But Louis doesn’t and Zayn knows why. So he whispers then, in a voice meant only for Louis to hear, “Apologize to Liam, if I’m your best friend and you love me as much as you say you do, apologize to Liam.”

Louis looks at him for a moment, rolls his eyes and then turns to where Harry and Liam walking away, and he shouts, “I am sorry okay, I am sorry Liam I shouldn’t have been such a dick towards you!”

Almost every head turns towards him again, some students are irritated by the disturbance and some just looking for some kind of entertainment. Harry and Liam both halt, turning around to face them, Zayn immediately averts his eyes to his feet.

“I was just bored that’s why I said all that,” Louis says, “Also sometimes I just don’t know when to stop I am sorry.”

A few seconds pass, Zayn hears soft footsteps and then Harry answers, “It’s okay.”

“What, now he’s too egoistic to answer me himself?” Louis asks.

“He’s got a sore throat mate, if he could answer you himself, he would have written you like five detention slips by now,” Harry chortles, followed by a, “OW! Liam I am standing up for you, don’t hit me right now.”

Louis chuckles, and Zayn looks up then. Harry is closer than where he was before now, Liam standing an inch behind him, biting his lip and looking everywhere but at Zayn.

“Okay, but tell Liam that I don’t like him or anything, I still hate him as much I did,” Louis says, “This changes nothing.”

“He’s not deaf, he only can’t speak at the moment,” Harry says, “And I don’t care about your feelings towards Liam, I just don’t think being rude to someone for no reason, especially when you want to go out with their best friend, is the right way to go.”

“Excuse me, what is that supposed to mean?” Louis asks.    

“I think you’re clever enough to understand exactly what I meant,” Harry says.

“I really don’t know what you're talking about,” there is zero conviction in Louis’ voice.

“Yeah, yeah, I know you don’t,” Harry smirks at him, “But just for your information, if you want to go the dance with me, I’ll be ready eight pm sharp, pick me up. If you don’t, well I always have Liam to go with me.”

And then Harry gives Louis one last smile, and turns around. Zayn watches Liam give him a lopsided grin and Harry bumping his fist with Liam’s chest, as they both turn around and walk away.

“What the fuck just happened?” Louis asks, eyes wide and mouth still wide open.

“You must’ve done something really good in your previous life, cuz God just rewarded you for it,” Zayn sniggers, grabbing Louis’ bag from the table and finally dragging him away.  
  
—-

“I can't believe I'm going to the dance with Harry Styles,” Louis says, shaking his head in actual disbelief, “I can't believe I'm taking Harry fucking Styles to the dance!”

Zayn wonders how many different versions of the same sentence Louis can come up with, as he grabs the steaming cup of coffee Niall is handing him. It's their fifth or sixth hangout with Niall since they first met him. Zayn is amazed how he actually began to like the guy in such a short span of time, but then maybe it’s because he and Louis spend a lot of time in the coffee place and becoming friends with Niall was inevitable. Also the free coffee that comes with Niall, is truly a blessing, so Zayn isn’t complaining.

“How long has he been like this?” Niall asks, taking his seat and tilting his head towards Louis who is mixing sugar in his coffee, still shaking his head.

“About two and a half days,” Zayn answers.

Louis literally hasn't shut up about Harry since a day after the cafeteria incident. That day, he had remained quiet and Zayn could tell he was in shock. But a day later, all which came out of Louis’ mouth was something about the dance and Harry. And it has been like that since then.

“How do we stop him?” Niall asks him.

“If there was a way, I would have implemented it by now,” he says.

“We could just let him sit here and go out for a walk,” Niall says, “I don't think he'll even notice.”

“Or we could sedate him, put him to sleep, before he completely loses his shit,” Zayn jokes.

“Excuse me,” Louis looks up, “I am sitting right here, okay!”

“I know that,” Zayn says, “But do you know that I'm sitting right here as well?”

“Yeah, you've been ignoring us since the moment you came,” Niall says.

“That's because I've got more important things to think about,” Louis says, “Like Harry, who I'm taking to the dance! Un-fucking-real. I'm telling you Zayn, this doesn’t add up. Something fishy is definitely going on.”

“You're paranoid,” Zayn says, taking a sip of his tea and wondering whether he really should take Louis to a doctor.

“Okay but I'm really not, because it doesn't make sense! He doesn't even know me, why would Harry Styles want to go to the dance with me?”

“Jesus Christ!” Niall exclaims, “He asked you out because he wants to get to know you! He's just a normal guy like all of us, just calm down for one second!”

“He's _just a normal guy_?” Louis looks mortified, “ _Just a normal guy_? Okay, I'll let that go because you haven't seen him. But you know when it rains for hours and hours and you just want it to fucking stop? And then it does, and there is this huge rainbow in the clear sky and everything looks so new and smells so fresh and just amazing? That is how Harry Styles looks like. So I'll have you know, he's really not _just a normal guy_.”

“What the fuck even was that?” Zayn asks, holding is palms up in confusion because what kind of an analogy even.

“I'll be honest, I didn't hear half of what you said,” Niall says, “And I didn’t understand the part that I heard.”

“Of course, you both wouldn't know shit, because you haven't fallen in love yet. And considering the stone hearts you've got, the chances do seem fairly thin.”

“You're not in love with him, Louis, please,” Zayn says, “You don't even know the damn guy!”  
  
“Okay but it's definitely something similar to that alright,” Louis says, “Because I haven’t liked someone for such a long time before. Like, I don't even remember how long I've liked Harry, all I know is I kept holding myself back because of how much I hate Liam.”

“Who's Liam?” Niall asks.

“A guy at our school,” Louis says, “Also known as Zayn's arch nemesis.”

“He's not–”

“Oh please,” Louis face palms Zayn, and then turns to Niall, “They literally hate each other's asses.”

“Why do _you_ hate him?” Niall asks Louis.

“Because his face reminds me of what he did to Zayn, and it automatically makes my blood boil,” Louis says, “And I am not exaggerating.”

“What did he do?” Niall inquires.

“It's a long story bro,” Louis says, gulping his coffee down in one go; he always does this; waits for the coffee to get cold, then lunges it down his throat.

“And if Louis tells it to you, half of it's not even true,” Zayn says.

“By Louis do you mean Zayn?” Louis rolls his eyes at him, turning to Niall, “He doesn’t really talk about it, says something about past is past, letting go, blah-blah bullshit.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me bro,” Niall says, giving Zayn a little pat, “I was just curious as to who this Liam guy was.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Zayn gives him a little smile, “Whatever happened really doesn’t bother me anymore.”

He’s getting so much better at lying he thinks but then he sees Louis roll his eyes at him, and realizes, that no, maybe not. Niall, however, buys it because he eagerly turns to Louis.

“Okay then, tell me what this Liam guy did?”

Louis glances at Zayn for permission and Zayn just shrug _s; go ahead, i don’t care._

“Okay then,” Louis begins, “Here's a quick summary: Zayn and Liam, best friends since they were three or four, somewhere around that. Inseparable, all the way up to when they were thirteen or fourteen, friends for a bit more than ten years okay, fucking brilliant if you ask me. But then one day Liam just starts to avoid Zayn's existence, doesn't come over to his house anymore, doesn't talk to him, fuck he doesn't even look at him at school. And Zayn is confused and hurt and sad for god knows how many days after that, not leaving his room for days, sometimes ditching school for no fucking reason. Enter Louis, the savior of the day! Who teaches Zayn how to stand on his feet again. And now, like four years later, here we are, right in front of you, on our way towards ten years!”

Zayn just keeps staring at his hands in his lap throughout, doesn't even look at Louis. He is glad Louis isn't giving Niall any details; there are some things Louis knows Zayn wouldn't share with anyone with him. The version Louis tells Niall, half of the school already knows. And not because Zayn or Louis spread that shit, but because when Zayn had started missing school, frustrated and confused because Liam hated him and he didn’t know what he had done, didn’t know why, his teachers had become concerned. And what was talked about in the staffroom had spread somehow over the entire school. Zayn still doesn’t know how many versions of his and Liam’s fallout people have come up with, but he does know that everyone is aware of the rift between him and Liam. A rift he hadn’t wanted, a rivalry he hadn’t asked for.

As Louis speaks, a film plays in Zayn's mind of all that had happened. Of how Liam had just shut him off completely, no phone calls, no coming over, not even a glance during recess. Liam had even gone to principal's office and gotten his class section changed because he didn't want to take classes with Zayn. He had gone _that_ far to avoid him. To neglect his existence, and to this day Zayn doesn't even know what he had done to deserve that. One day they were playing in his room, the next day Liam's parents were at his house telling his parents they didn't want to see Zayn around Liam anymore, because Liam wanted his distance. It still doesn't make sense and maybe it never will. And maybe, hopefully, one day will stop caring. But right now, he still wants to know. Wants the missing piece so that everything can fall into place and he can move on, wants to know what had caused the animosity in Liam’s heart towards him.

“But Liam must have had a good reason,” Niall says after Louis ends his story.

“Okay listen Niall, darling,” Louis says, “If he had a good reason, I don't think it'd have taken him more than a few minutes to spit it out of his mouth. He's a douche is what he is. A massive, gigantic, huge dickhead!”

“Okay can we talk about something else now?” Zayn says.

He doesn't like the feeling he gets when someone bad mouths Liam, he doesn’t know why but he feels bitter about it. He can’t explain, he won’t be able to, but he just doesn’t like the gut twist, the sudden blood burn. He doesn’t.

“Okay then,” Louis says knowingly, “Coming back to Styles–”

“No!” he protests the same time Niall does.

“Well, there is nothing else to talk about!”

“Please, I can come up with a hundred different things to chat about instead of Harry,” Niall says, “Like, hey! What're you lads doing for spring break?”

“Zayn's family is going on vacation so we're chilling at his house,” Louis says. Zayn nods.

“Really, when?”

“The day I am going out with Harry,” Louis says.

Zayn rolls his eyes, “The day before break.”

“What, so you both will have the house to yourselves?” Niall asks, he looks excited.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, “You can come and hang out too, anytime you want, keep me company whenever Louis has to work.”

“Thanks man,” Niall says, smiling widely, “So when will your family return then?”

“Well, spring break is two weeks,” Zayn says, “But my father was saying they’re gonna stay longer.”

“Three weeks, then?” Niall asks.

“Approximately, yeah,” Zayn says, “Could be a month, even. I hope to God it’s a month!”

“Still haven’t written your college essay, huh?” Niall grins.

“Yeah man,” Zayn says, “I don’t think I’m ever going to get that shit done.”

“When it sh–

“You know what,” Louis cuts Niall off, “I think, Harry only asked me out to get me back for being hard on Liam! He’s going to stand me up!”

“Oh my god, Louis!” Niall says just as Zayn bends forward and thumps his forehead on the table, exasperated.

–-

He has decided he’s going to give it a go. Which is why he’s sat here on the floor, in the alleyway at the back of the school building, back against a wall, a notepad open in his lap. Louis had asked him to accompany him to the basketball court, but he had declined. He has to get this personal statement done, and get it out of the way. He doesn’t want to spend spring break thinking about it and he sure as hell doesn’t want his father to find out that he hasn’t even written a single word yet.

So he had just come here, because (1) he knew nobody would disturb him here and (2) if he has to think about his life as an engineer, he needs to have a cigarette burning in his hand. And since there are no CCTVs around in this part of the building, he knows he’s safe. Also, he’s pretty damn sure 98% of the student body and staff doesn’t even know about this narrow space between the building and the back wall. It’s always vacant and damp in here, sounds of water running and fans turning in the atmosphere along with bittersweet memories hanging idly in the air.

Thing is, Zayn has spent a lot of time here in the last eight or so years of his life. This place used to be his and Liam's hiding place. They had stumbled upon it once when they were hiding from a bully back in third grade or something. Zayn had brought a plastic water gun to school that day, and the guy, three years his senior, tall and intimidating had wanted it. Zayn, younger, smaller and a pile of skinny limbs had refused. His father had bought him the gun a day ago; he wasn't just going to let anyone take it from him. But also, he wasn't going to fight the boy. Smart enough to know that if he went against the bully, there was no way he would end up winning. Not even if Liam helped him, they'd both end up on the floor instead. Unable to go to the school office with a complaint because Zayn wasn't allowed to bring a toy to school in the first place.

So Zayn's mind had said 'run' and that's exactly what he had done. Liam right beside him, an inch ahead maybe; looking back to check up on him again and again. And somehow two minutes later, they had ended in this alleyway, chests heaving and palms sweating. Zayn recalls throwing the gun under the rock that is still lying in the far right corner, and crouching with Liam beside it, waiting for the bully to catch up. He remembers being afraid, and remembers erupting into a fit of giggles a moment later when Liam had made a face at him; tongue out, pupils going funny. Both of them had sat there, backs against the wall, mimicking the bully and chortling into each other's shoulders, tears of laughter in eyes.

The guy didn't find them. For a good half hour they had sat there, and nobody had come looking. When they slipped back out, the gun still stacked safely under the rock, their classmates, grinning excitedly, had inquired them where they were. Telling them that the bully had lost his mind searching for them all over the campus. Liam and him had just smirked in response.

Over the months, they had come here so many times. A few times when they didn't want to attend PE, a few times during recess when they just wanted to play with the action figures they had stacked safely behind the rock.

Realizing he is smiling, Zayn shakes the memories away with a deep inhale of his cig, focusing on the notepad on his lap. Still hasn't written a single word, still can't find inspiration to write anything. Maybe if he stares at the blank paper hard enough, he'll come up with something. He tries that, he fails. His ears perk up instantly when he hears footsteps paired with low inaudible whispers. Getting louder, approaching.

He didn't know other students knew about this place now, he thought nobody had found out. He was so wrong, because two guys come into view. Clad in the school team's basketball jerseys. He recognizes them; they're in the same year as him, just in the other section. He has also seen them before in detention a couple of times, whenever he had gone to pick Louis up. Never talked to them, or acknowledged them. So what doesn't add up is that they're coming towards him, wearing smug grins. He averts his gaze from them, putting his cigarette out against the floor he's sat on. He doesn't look up, pretending to be occupied, scribbling gibberish on the notepad until two pairs of feet stop right in front of him.

“Hey, Malik,” one of the guys say.

He looks up at the towering figures, “What?”

“Can we have a fag too?” the bulkier one asks.

“Nah, sorry bro, it's against the school rules,” he says, shoving the notepad back into his bag and scrambling to his feet. He stands one or two inches shorter than the guys.

“You were smoking one just now,” the other guy says, glancing at the butt lying beside his foot.

“I wasn't,” he lies, “That's not mine.”

“You think I'm dumb?” the first one raises an eyebrow.

“Dumb enough to ask the head boy for a cigarette, yeah.”

The guy takes a step towards him, Zayn doesn't budge, he's already standing with his back almost touching the wall. There is no space to retreat.

“You know I could make you give me one, right?” the boy says, voice gruff.

“You know I can get you expelled, right?” he shoots back, probably doesn't feel as brave as he's trying to come off.

“Is that a threat? Because really, I don't give a single fuck,” the guy snorts into his face, breath reeking, “If you can smoke here, why can't we?”

“I already told you mate,” he tries again, “I don't have cigs, that's not mine, I wasn't smoking.”

“You're lying.”

“Can you prove that?”

“You stink of the smell, I don't have to prove anything.”

“Oh,” he hadn't thought of that, “Turns out you're going to have to make me give you one then.”

“Why do you want to be beaten up so bad, huh?”

There is a hand clutching warningly at his collar now, he can feel knuckles digging into his collarbones, is waiting for when he's slammed back into the wall, “So that I have a solid reason to get your stupid ass kicked out and exempted.”

Actually, he is a bit thrown off when he is slammed into the wall, his back hitting it hard. His threat was meant to cause the guy to back off.

“You know what? You are lucky you have this badge, because if you didn't, you'd be nothing right now,” the guy spits, “Cuz frankly speaking, I'm fucking tired or your best friend or boyfriend or whatever the fuck Tomlinson is, getting away with shit–”

“He doesn't get away with anything. He attends detention like the rest of you.”

“He attends detention when he fucking wants to,” the guy retorts, “Not when he has to. Because other times your revolting ass gets him out of it.”

“Well then it sucks you're not my best mate,” he shoots back, doesn't know why he's being reckless, but likes the rush he's getting from it, “What sucks more is that you'd have a chance if you weren't an ugly disgusting waste of space.”

A fist meets his bottom lip, it hits hard. He doesn't have to check to find out that his lip has split open, eyes starting to water. He clenches his own hand into one, refraining from fighting back. He doesn't want to make this more worse than he already has. And he has seen enough in life to understand that it's not the best option to hit someone when they are twice as big as you are, twice the amount you are.

“Stan, what are you guys doing?” another voice intrudes.  
  
The guy assaulting him turns pale in the face, letting go off Zayn's collar immediately. Turns away from him and freezes. He deliberately moves in front of Zayn, hiding him from view.

“Liam, what're you doing here mate?”

“I don't have to tell you that. What are you guys doing here? Harry wants you in the court,” his voice is still hoarse, Zayn can tell he has not fully recovered from the sore throat.  
  
“We were just talking,” the other guy, Stan, replies.

“Who've you got there behind your back, what're you hiding?”

“Nothing,” Stan's voice cracks.

“I swear if you guys have brought weed in again–,” Zayn hears before heavy footsteps and then the guy is being shoved away.

He literally catches every spot of color that drains away from Liam's face when Liam's eyes fall on him, shifting from his eyes to his lips. Loses a bit of his breath when Liam's finger comes up to touch his bottom lip lightly, going away from his lips painted red.

Then Liam is turning away from him, facing Stan and his friend, he hears what he thinks is the clenching of Liam's fist but he's not sure because he's looking over Liam's shoulder, at the pale faces of the bullies.

“Who did that?” Liam asks, voice exceptionally calm.

“Jordan, I swear I had no part in this,” Stan says.

“Why?” Liam asks.

“He was smoking,” Jordan replies.

“So you hit him?” Liam asks.

“Yes I–”

Zayn doesn't get to hear the rest of what Jordan is about to say; he is cut short by Liam pushing him away, shoving him in the chest, causing him to stumble back. Unfortunately, Stan keeps him from falling.

“Don't ever hurt him– anyone, again,” Zayn hasn't exactly heard Liam angry before, he sounds gruff, hoarse, rough at the same time.

He sees Jordan's nostrils flare, glaring at Liam, and then he is shoving Liam back. It catches Liam off guard, as it does Zayn, who's hands shoot up on their own accord planting themselves behind Liam's back, even before Liam can stumble back into him, supporting him, keeping him from losing his balance. The next thing he knows, Liam is stepping forward, fist flying, smashing against Jordan's lip.

This time, Jordan does lose his balance as Stan steps out of the way. Falling on his back.

“Lip for a lip,” Liam says, looking down at Jordan, voice low but furious, smear of blood on his clenched knuckles resembling the crimson on Jordan's bottom lip.

Zayn watches Stan crouch over his friend, helping him get up the ground. He whispers something in Jordan's ear, both pale in the face and apprehensive in their movements. And then Stan is dragging Jordan away by the arm, Jordan who keeps throwing Liam dirty looks until he turns around the corner and disappears out of view.

He keeps staring at the corner, expecting for them to reappear. And also because, that is what Liam is doing. Eyes stuck on the point, breath heaving, fists still clenched. Zayn doesn't know when Liam got this strong, or this brave. Doesn't know why he just saved his ass either. Doesn't why he is turning around to face him again. Has no idea why Liam scans his face, never meeting his eyes. Is clueless as to why Liam is reaching for his striped tie, neatly around his neck.

And then all his questions are answered when Liam lifts up the tip of his tie, and wipes Zayn's bottom lip with it. All Zayn can do is stare at Liam's blinking eyelids with his lips parted and to not stop breathing. His mind is in a whirlwind trying to figure out if this actually happening; it's like he can grasp everything and not grasp anything at the same time. So astonished, so dizzy, he thinks he'll faint.

After rubbing at Zayn's lips a bit more, Liam retrieves his hand. Doesn't look up at him, tucks his tie back in. Then glances up to meet Zayn's eyes for the minutest fraction of a second, abruptly turning away from him. Liam starts to walk away from him and Zayn can't find it in himself to even move. He gulps, mentally punching himself, he should say something, probably thank Liam? What should he say, how should–

“Li.”  
  
Liam stops instantly. Doesn't turn around though. Doesn't respond either.

“I'm sorry for what Louis said to you, I'm sorry I didn't stop him.”

He waits, staring at the expanse of Liam's back; dark blazer. A moment passes, Liam does not respond.

Until he does, short and blunt, “Doesn't matter anymore.”

Mouth dry, he watches Liam walk away. Heart sinking so fast in his chest, he wonders if he'd ever be able to get it back up.

—-

“He sent me a broach to wear on my coat,” Louis’s voice echoes in his room, coming from the phone lying on Zayn’s bed, “It has light purple flowers on it! I can’t fucking believe this guy, he actually fucking thinks I would wear flowers!”

“So you won’t wear it then?” Zayn asks, as he sorts through his closet in search of something suitable to wear to the dance tonight, because he sure as hell isn’t going to wear the five year old suit his mother borrowed from his cousin. And Zayn is pretty sure it’s more than five years old, because it has literally started to decay from the inside.

“Fuck, obviously I am going to wear it,” Louis sighs, “But I swear, it’s only going to be this once.”

“We’ll see about that,” Zayn says, pulling out a crumpled black suit jacket from somewhere in the back of a compartment, he remembers he bought this for his cousin’s wedding a year and a half ago, and he had bought it himself. He lays it out on the bed. It just needs some pressing and it’ll be as good as new.

“Has your family left yet?” Louis asks.

“Nope, they’re still downstairs, waiting for baba’s driver to bring the van,” Zayn says, throwing a white turtleneck above the jacket, digging back into the closet to find a good pair of jeans.

“Oh,” Louis says, “So when will you be at the dance?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn says, pulling out every pair of trousers in reach, “But definitely after everyone leaves, I have to lock up the house and everything. So if I’m late or anything, don’t worry. Not that you’ll have the time to, but just in case.”

“There is no need to feel so neglected,” Louis says, “I am always thinking about you, alright.”

“Yeah, yeah, right,” Zayn laughs, finally grabbing a pair of black jeans which he had thrown at the very back because they stuck to his skin and made him feel hot, but maybe he can handle them just for tonight.

Louis is in the middle of what he thinks the dance will be like, and Zayn is shoving all the mess he’s made on the floor back into the closet when the door opens. It’s Waliyha, who hasn’t really been speaking to Zayn since he told on her, so Zayn is surprised as to why she’s here.

“What?” he asks, sitting among the pile of his clothes.

“Baba wants to see you,” she says, arms folded.

“Why?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” she says, “Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Okay, I’ll just be down,” he says.

“I am hanging up then,” Louis speaks from the phone.

“Is that Louis?” Waliyha asks, pointing to the phone.

“No, it’s Queen Elizabeth,” Louis answers.

Waliyha rolls her eyes, walking in and grabbing Zayn’s phone. He wants to ask her to get out, but it’s nice to have her in his room after so many days.

“I am sorry I ditched you,” Waliyha tells Louis, “Baba said I couldn’t go and my stupid brother didn’t take my side, so I got into a fight with baba and now I am also grounded and he took my phone away, so I couldn’t call you either.”

“You’re grounded, yet you’re going for a vacation,” Louis says, “My sisters would die for this kind of punishment.”

Waliyha chuckles, “Yeah, well it’s not really a punishment. Anyway, I heard you’re going with Harry Styles, so I’m glad that’s working out for you!”

“That’s because you didn’t have to hear his desperate monologues about Harry all week,” Zayn snorts, shutting his closet.

“You’ve got a lot of noise pollution at your area,” Louis says, over the phone.

“Yeah, I asked baba to call a snobby brother exterminator but I guess it might have slipped his mind,” Waliyha rolls her eyes, ignoring Zayn, and Louis laughs loudly at the other end.

“I am a snobby brother,” Zayn grins, knowing very well that Waliyha is having a go at him because she’s still mad, as he moves towards her, “Say that again.”

“You’re a snobby brother,” she says, blowing a raspberry at him.

And then he charges forward, his arms going around her waist before she has a chance to run, as he tackles her onto the bed, and then he’s tickling her, under the arms, on her stomach, and Waliyha has always been very ticklish. Unable to stop him, she starts laughing, letting the phone from her hand, trying to push him off, tears in his eyes as uncontrollable laughter fills the atmosphere.

She tries to tickle him too, but he dodges her hands, going for her stomach again, and she keeps laughing with her head thrown back, his fourteen year old sister looking like a three year old child, and he wishes she’d never grow up.

Later, when he’s done with the tickling, he lies next to her, as she tries to catch her breath, tear tracks running down her cheeks from all the laughter. The phone lies somewhere on the carpet, Louis having hung up some time ago.

“Don’t think just because I laughed, I have forgiven you,” Waliyha says.

He sighs, “Okay, I know I shouldn’t have told on you like that, and I’m sorry, not very sorry but like some amount.”

She punches his shoulder, “You aren’t helping yourself.”

“Let me finish, god,” Zayn says, “So when you get back, I’ll take you shopping for a whole day and you can get anything you want, and I’ll pay for everything.”

“How’re you going to pay for everything, where will you get the money?”

“I have been saving up,” Zayn says, “I don’t spend all my money the moment I get it.”

“How much money have you got saved?” she asks.

“I am not going to tell you that,” he shakes his head, “But I’ll tell you that I have been collecting for ages.”

“Okay, don’t take me shopping, just give me half of it, and you’re forgiven,” she says.

“I’ll give you one fourth,” he says, “Trust me, it’ll be enough for you.”

“Then you probably don’t know what’s enough for me,” she sniggers, straightening up.

He sits up too, “I know what’s enough for you, take one fourth or I’ll take you shopping, choose one.”

“I’ll take one fourth,” Waliyha says, “But if it’s not-”

“It will be,” he winks at her, getting up, “Now, what did dad want?”

“Oh,” she remembers, “He wanted to give you the car keys, you can take the car to the dance tonight, but he wanted to tell you himself, so go and pretend like you don’t know.”

He ruffles her hair, happy because if he’s taking the car tonight, he’s also getting to keep the car for all of spring break, until his family comes back. And if that isn’t the best news he’s heard all day!

—-

It’s almost about nine in the night; his family had left half an hour ago. After which, he had showered, shaved, changed his clothes; gotten ready and left the house to get to the dance.

He’s going down a shortcut road, the one him and Louis always take in the morning when they’re running late. It’s narrow, goes behind the market place, and is lined with trees on both sides. It had been snowing all morning, it’s the start of March but the snow is still playing tricks; starts to fall whenever it wants to, doesn’t disappear for days. The road is slippery, and he is driving as carefully as he can, but he’s also running late. He told Lauren he’d be there at 8:30, the watch on his wrist now reads 9:12.

When he looks up from his watch, he sees it. A black four-limbed something, running past the road, one side to the other, and it’s right in front of his car, whatever it is. In the fraction of a hasty minute, it seems like his brain stops working, as he turns the steering wheel, and pushes the brakes simultaneously. He had never been a good driver, fuck he doesn’t even a license, and he knows he has done something wrong, because the car is out of his control. The last thing he sees before he shuts his eyes tightly and shields his face with his arms, is the dark, wide trunk of a tree.

Then there is a loud thud, and he is jolting in his seat, hands flying to catch onto something, legs hitting something underneath, he hears something crack just when his head bangs against the steering wheel.

He doesn’t open his eyes.

—-

It feels like he is floating, but something is weighing down on him at the same time. His entire body seems to be under pain, a heavy solid pressure on one of his legs; he can't decide which one.

Finally, after fully regaining consciousness he gradually flutters his eyes open, a streak of pain shooting across his head. He winces, blinks a few times, letting his eyes adjust to the dim lighting in the room.

The room. That's when Zayn realizes he's not in the room he was expecting to wake up in; his own. And that's when the images appear in his mind; knuckles pressed around a steering wheel, a loud crash, wall of trees. He was in an accident, he remembers, he was driving to the dance, but he hadn't made it. His car had hit a tree. That explains the prominent throbbing in his head, and the pain weighing down on his legs.

But what it doesn't explain is where he is right now; it looks like it is someone’s room but it also somehow doesn't.

There are elements present that make it look like a proper room; pushed against a wall is a single bed on which he's lying, feels soft underneath him, his neck propped on what feel like pillows. Right beside the bed, he checks, turning his neck and wincing at the tiny crick, there is a small wooden table, nothing on top, just lying there. He can barely make out the metal door, looking over the table, on the wall at his right. A tube light, covered in yellow cellophane, is stuck on the wall in front of him, a few feet away from the bed he is lying on. There is a desk under the light, lying next to the wall, surface bare, a wooden chair in front of it. Bare. A tall bookshelf stands beside the desk, fully stacked with what looks like music records and books, thick dust visible all over them. And right beside the shelf is a small closet, two doors, a pipe lock going around the handles, holding it shut. Right in the middle of the room, hangs a ceiling fan, as grey and dull as the rest of the room.

Or not room, because on the left side, there are stacks and stacks of cardboard boxes. So many, the right wall is barely even visible. There are no glass windows, just gaps in the front wall, narrow rectangles, above the tube light. There is nothing on the walls, they are just bare and grey and brick. Zayn can't imagine anyone living here. He has never seen a place this dull before, he doesn't know where he is.

But that isn't when he starts to panic, no. He is calm, because he's smart, he can surely recall where he is. Obviously, if he somehow made it all the way to here, he would know what this place is. When he lifts his right hand to feel the weight resting on his forehead and his left hand comes along with it, thick silver metal coming into his view; that's when the panic kicks in.

His eyes widen in horror as he grasps what he is seeing, his wrists bound close together, a handcuff securing them in place. Trying to get out of it, he twists and turns and pulls his wrists but the cold steel only burns the area instead. There is a real bad feeling settling in his stomach, as he tries his level best not to think about what a part of his brain telling him is happening. But soon enough he realizes that part is probably right, because his ankles are pressed together too, digging into each other, something wiry going around them. When he looks down at his feet, bile rises up his throat because yes, his legs are tied together firmly too, what seems like a red rope holding them in place.

He screams then, both in fear and pain, jerking his legs and hands, trying to free himself off the confinements. The bed shakes with his weight, as he twists and turns his body, attempting to find an angle that would free him off the restrictions but all he achieves is increasing the pain he is already in.

Except now, his throat is a desert; dried up to the very depth. The body parts, that weren't aching when he had woken up, are now throbbing with pain, a hundred times worse than before.

He can't move anymore, he feels lethargic; every ounce of energy has been sucked out of him. So he does the only thing he can anymore, he lets his head hit the pillow again, and passes out cold, even before he can completely let out a defeated sigh.

—-

When he wakes up the second time, he feels something warm and soft against one of his cheeks. He sinks into the touch involuntarily, the light press being the only thing bringing him comfort since his entire body seems to under immense pain.

Then, all of a sudden, his mind is sinking into a collage of images and memories, and his eyes shoot open when he feels the cold metal going around his wrists. He screams the moment his eyes meet with a set of wide brown ones; the only part visible on the masked face leaning over his. The hand moves from his cheek to press over his mouth, blocking his scream and he struggles. Tries to kick the person away, crying in pain right into the gloved palm when both his legs throb excruciatingly, both his feet tied together at the ankles.

“Stop screaming please,” the person says, his hand still covering Zayn’s mouth, “It’s not going to do you any good, you’ll only end up being in more pain.”

He’s a guy; voice deep and young. Zayn feels like he has heard it before, but the thought goes as quickly as it had come. He keeps trying to scream, letting out nothing but muffled pants, because his throat feels like sandpaper, every inch of it hurting like desiccated hell.

“I am going to remove my hand okay,” the stranger says, “Please, don’t scream. There’s nobody around to hear it. You’ll only be wasting your time.”

Zayn doesn’t listen, he keeps struggling, trying to move the hand covering his mouth away with his bound ones until the guy holds both of them together with his other hand, pinning them above his head. It hurts, his shoulders, elbows, joints, sinews; they hurt. But his cry of pain is silenced by the fabric pressing over his mouth.

He doesn’t let the pain still him; twisting and turning his body he keeps attempting to get away somehow. His mind isn’t cooperating; everything inside has come to a sudden halt. If he keeps struggling, he might be able to get away. He figures. But it doesn’t seem to be working. The masked man is still hovering over him, watching him with blank brown eyes. He is half expecting the guy to jerk his body in place, keep him from moving, but the stranger doesn’t even touch him anywhere else. Doesn’t even speak for a long time, just watches Zayn with intent, frozen beside him, with a hand on his mouth and one around his wrists, as Zayn keeps on trying to make more noise, staring back into his eyes, apprehensive. Perturbed.

Until Zayn can no more.

He stills. All of him on fire with pain, every joint in his body aching, his mouth rough, pangs of pain hitting the walls of his throat. And he shuts his eyes, panting heavily into the hand still over his lips, sinking back into the bed he’s lying on.

“Are you done?” the guy asks, “Or would you like to not listen to me some more?”

Zayn wants to fight back, he does. He’s scared, he doesn’t know what’s happening to him, he doesn’t know who this person is. This stranger, whose voice sounds so familiar, yet so foreign, who is covered from head to toe in black fabric, a ski mask over his head, hiding all of his face except his eyes which had shown more sympathy than aggression as they had stared into Zayn’s, unblinking.

But he’s too tired to fight, he is too exhausted. He feels feeble, and also somewhat in hell. He can feel almost all of his body parts and organs thumping with pain, his brain pounding against his skull like a drum, making everything hurt.

“Good,” the stranger says, finally removing his hand off Zayn’s mouth.

Zayn breathes out, long gushes of air flowing out his nostrils, his ears picking up sounds of feet shuffling. When he opens his eyes this time, the stranger has moved away from the side of the bed, he’s now standing at the foot of it, in front of Zayn. He has arms folded over his chest, black fabric stretching across his chest and biceps. His eyes are scanning Zayn’s face, the emotions in them concealed because of the dim lighting.

“How’re you feeling?” the boy in front of him asks, “How bad does it hurt?”

There’s a hint of anxiousness, fear, in his voice, Zayn thinks. But then pushes the faint thought away, because really. The guy is wearing a mask, he has brought him to some strange, eerie place, he tied his feet and hands together. He is literally holding him captive. Why on earth would he worry about anything? Guys like him don’t usually worry about anything except their nasty motives, that’s what he’s seen in movies, that’s what he has heard on the news.

“You can tell me you know,” the guy says again, “I want to make it hurt less, trust me, I’ve been trying to make your pain go away since the last two days.”

A very bad taste suddenly appears in Zayn’s mouth. Two days. _Two days_. It rings in his ears; he swallows the bitterness and asks, voice gravelly, “How long have I been here?”

“Two days,” the guy replies simply, “Almost three now.”

Zayn doesn’t want to believe him, how has he been here for three days now and no one has noticed his absence, hasn’t come looking for him? That’s impossible, this is just bizarre. Where is Louis? Louis would notice him missing, right? Louis would bring hell on earth if he was missing.

“Is this some kind of a prank?” he asks, wetting his dry mouth with whatever saliva he thinks he’s got left, “Is this some kind of a bad joke? Is Louis in on this?”

The guy’s eyes narrow at that, “You think your best friend would keep you in a basement instead of a hospital when you’re injured, just because he wants to play a prank on you?”

“If he isn’t on this then how do you know he is my best friend?”

“I know a lot about you, Zayn.”

“Who are you?”

“That’s the only thing I can’t tell you, I’m sorry.”

Zayn can’t believe he’s apologizing but he’s suddenly too alert and focused to care, “Why, will you tell me everything else I ask?”

“Any question that doesn’t give away my identity, I’ll answer honestly.”

“Do I know you?”

“See, questions like that,” the guy exhales sharply, “I’m not answering anything about myself. If you ever want to refer to me, call me Link.”

“But that’s not your real name?”

“Obviously, it isn’t,” the guy, Link, says.

“Where am I? What is this place?” he shoots out every question that his brain is providing.

“You’re at my house, this is a basement.”

That’s not helpful at all, that is literally no information, “Why am I here?”

“You’ll soon find out.”

“I want to know now.”

“Well, you can’t now.”

“You said you’d answer everything honestly.”

“I will, just when it’s time.”

“What do you want from me?” he nearly shouts, he’s losing his patience; also he’s afraid, of all the possibilities crossing his mind, “My family isn’t even rich, if you think you can kidnap me and ask for some large amount of money, they can’t pay you! It’s no use!”

“I don’t want anything from your family,” Link says.

“Then- then what do you want?”

“Right now, I want you to tell me how much you’re hurting, so that I can take care of that.”

“I don’t want you to take care of that, I want you to take me to a fucking hospital!”

“I can’t do that,” Link says, “And you don’t need a hospital, anymore. There was a minor wound on your forehead, that has been properly tended to and bandaged. (that’s the heavy weight on his head, he realizes.) There was a deep gash on your leg that would take a week probably to heal completely. It has been properly bandaged too. (he looks down, sees that there is a thick white bandage around his leg.) There’s one prominent scratch at your back, underneath the left shoulder. You had bruises and scratches all over, but nothing too serious. Those have been cleaned too. Also, you were injected with painkillers and stuff, to keep you safe, so you’re actually in a pretty good position. The more you move though; your injuries are going to hurt. So it’s best if you stayed put, and rested for a week, yeah?”

He’s just staring at Link with his mouth ajar when he stops talking, wondering how the fuck Link knows all that, had he inspected his body, had he seen him naked – what else had he done? What else will he do? Who is he?

Maybe reading the horrific expression on Zayn’s face, Link continues, “One of my best friends is a clinical nurse, he took care of you. Made sure you were safe, prescribed all the medicines. There’s nothing to worry about, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“You’re fucking keeping me here without my consent,” Zayn retorts, his eyes burn and he doesn’t know why, “I am restrained to this bed, injured and weak. Something is already happening to me! If you want to help me, let me go!”

“I can’t.”

“Fuck you, then!” he shouts, but his voice breaks so badly, he can hear every bit of the crack. And he can’t help but flinch at how his throat hurts, he feels like dry sand is choking him up.

“You need water,” Link says, moves to come beside him again, as he lets his head fall on the soft pillows below, staring resolutely at the ceiling. He hears water being poured, it’s like his throat has grown a pair of hands invisibly reaching for the glass when Link brings it close to his mouth and says, “Please, drink this.”

Zayn turns his head away, “No.”

“You haven’t eaten anything since days, barely two drops of water have gone inside you, you need to eat and drink,” Link says.

“Let me go,” Zayn says, not looking at Link.

“I can’t,” Link says, “Drink this, please.”

“I won’t.”

“You’re only hurting yourself.”

“What’s it to you?” Zayn asks.

There is a loud sigh, “This is the last time, I’m asking. Please, drink this.”

“No,” he says, voice getting lost somewhere towards the end.

“Suit yourself then,” Link’s voice turns stern, before there is a loud thud, glass hitting wood. And then there are footsteps, going away from Zayn, followed by another loud bang. Sound of a key turning, lock clicking. More footsteps, fading.

Zayn turns his head towards the right, Link is gone. The glass lies on the side table, the water dancing seductively in it. He licks his lips, wanting to pour that entire glass down his throat, but he knows if he moves, it’ll start hurting again.

So he resents to closing his eyes, and taking deep breaths, hoping to wake up in his bed whenever he opens them again.

—-

He should have drunk the water when Link was asking him to. Because his mouth tastes like death and his stomach is growling, he can see the glass sitting on the side table but he can’t reach it; his hands held together. He knows if he tries to slide off the bed and stand, he’ll fall on his face which will probably hurt as much as he thinks it will, but he also knows that he’ll have to do it. He doesn’t know when Link will come back, doesn’t know what’s going to happen when he does, so he needs to try to get off the bed and try to get out of this place, even if it hurts him.

Taking a deep breath, he uses all his force and he rolls his body until he's falling off the bed and hitting the floor hard. He lands on his right side, biting his lip to stop himself from screaming in pain. He is sure he's broken his right arm too, as he tries to straighten himself up. He can feel almost every body part aching but right now he can't stop, this might be his chance to escape. Find out some kind of an opening, slide out of it, anything.  
  
Literally everything throbs as he lifts his hands to grasp the edge of the bed, trying to hoist himself up on his feet. He manages to stand, but the moment he lets go off the bed, his entire weight falls on his injured leg. Another little whimper dies down in his throat as he plops down, face forward on the bed again.

“Fuck,” he swears, painstakingly rolling onto his back, instantly trying to lift himself up again somehow.

A few minutes later, he has managed to hop a few inches away from the bed, leaning heavily against the cold cement wall. Panting, he keeps sliding forward, taking little steps towards the door, praying that it's been left unlocked, or that his weight is enough to push it open if it isn't.

Unfortunately, the pain on his left leg gets too much to bear and he lets himself fall against the wall, sighing in defeat. He can feel the perspiration on his forehead and he doesn't get why he is sweating or panting. He doesn't get tired this easily, but at the moment he feels so feeble. Mentally cursing himself for ever attempting to make it to the door, he is about to slither all the way to his bed and try to get on it since the floor too hard and cold, when he hears the lock turn and stills.

When Link comes in Zayn alerts, straightening himself up, he manages to get into a sitting position, spreading his tied legs in front of him. He blinks his eyes a few times to keep the dizziness away. He needs to see everything, needs all of his senses working so that he can pick up clues that can convey who Link is. But again, he realizes it's impossible, because his captor is covered head to toe in black again. The dim yellow light in the room not highlighting any details.

“Why are you on the floor?” Link asks, once his eyes find Zayn and he has placed a tray of food and drinks on the side table.

“When are you going to let me go?” Zayn asks, instead of answering the question.

“Before your parents come back from vacation, I promise,” Link says, still looking suspiciously between the bed and where Zayn is currently sitting, “Were you trying to escape or something?”

“No,” Zayn says, not sure what Link would do if he found out, “Just moving around.”

“You shouldn't be moving around,” Link walks over to him, squats down beside him, scrutinizing his left leg, “You weren't supposed to move or use this leg yet, you had to wait two more days. Let it heal enough.”

Oh, so that is why it felt like someone had put bullets in his shin a few minutes ago? But he can't tell Link that, can't let it show that he's paining, that he feels weak.

“Come on,” Link says, as he reaches a hand out towards his waist.

Zayn flinches away immediately, “Don't touch me.”

“I am not going to hurt you, you don't have to be afraid.”

Link reaches out for him again, Zayn slides back, sinking back into the wall as much as he can, staying away from the hand, “I said, don't touch me.”

“I have to get you back on the bed,” Link says, retrieving his hand, “You have to be comfortable.”

“You think I'm comfortable here? You think a bed is going to make me comfortable?”

Link sighs, “Listen, you're not getting out of here today, that's for sure. So you can be stupid and stay in pain, or you could let me help you. Either way, you're staying right here, I'm not letting you out until I've planned to.”

“When's that?” Zayn asks.

“I told you, before your parents come back.”

“No, how many days is that? I don't even know what day it is today. How long–”

“It's Tuesday,” Link says, “You’ll be here until Monday. Not the next one, the one after that. Your parents come back Wednesday.”

“How do you know that?”

“I texted your mom from your phone,” Link says, “She told me. She says she misses you, hopes you were there with her.”

“Didn't she call?” Zayn asks, there is something welling up inside him, at the image of his mom that has popped up in his head, he wishes he was with her right now too.

“She didn't,” Link says, “But she did text she had poor signals where she was, she'll call you whenever she gets better reception.”

“Will you let me talk to her when she does?”

“No, obviously not! I am not stupid.”

“Please! I won't say anything to her about this, I’ll just ask her how she is. Tell her I'm fine. I just don't want her to worry, just want to hear her voice,” Zayn pleads.

“No.”

“Then I am not getting up on that bed,” he huffs out.

“Okay, I don't think you get this. You are really not in a position to negotiate right now,” Link says, “You know that I will drag you by force if you are difficult.”

“Okay, then why don't you drag me by force?”

He watches Link's fists clench between his knees, as he takes a deep breath, “Look Zayn, I told you everything you asked for honestly because I thought in exchange for that you would get up on the bed. Now let me help you up, and then when you are lying up there, we can strike another deal.”

He considers for a moment, and then having no choice, propelled by the undying ache in his leg and the itch in his throat, he nods his head.

Link lets out a loud breath of relief, “Good, thanks.”

Zayn doesn't know why Link is thanking him. This time he allows it when Link reaches out, and slides an arm around his waist, guiding his right arm to go around his shoulders.  
  
“Don't put weight on your leg,” Link tells him, as he helps him stand up, “Just lean on me a little, yeah? It's okay, no need to be afraid, you’re fine.”

His voice is so close to Zayn's ear, so clear, Zayn swears he has heard this voice before. It's so familiar. But yet, he can't place it. He keeps staring at Link's cloth covered face though, as Link drags him forward. He squints, narrows his eyes, trying to see if the cloth is see through. If he can make out anything being so near Link right now. His eyes fall on the strip of skin that shows between where the collar of Link's shirt ends and the ski mask begins; at the low of his neck.

He scans the area, and then his eyes detect a small mark there, peeking from under the black cloth, not clearly visible in the dim light. Before he can inspect further, Link turns to look at him and finds him staring. Their eyes meet for a millisecond and Zayn’s brain goes into overdrive; he’s got brown eyes that reflect the yellow light of the room, glinting a bit and Zayn can swear he has seen these eyes this close before.

The next thing he knows he's being lurched forward and lowered down on the bed hurriedly, as Link takes hasty steps back, creating distance between them, pulling his mask a bit lower, making sure all his skin is covered again.

Then he comes over to Zayn's side again, stuffing pillows behind his back gently. Zayn leans on them, the fluff of them such a comfort to his back. After making sure he is not in discomfort anymore, Link steps away from the bed. But he doesn't turn away from Zayn, stands a few steps back facing him and scanning him over, inspecting him better in the light that falls on him.

“So, about that deal,” Zayn gets his attention, throat dry, “Are you going to let me talk to my mother when she calls?”

Link looks up to his face, blinks twice and then says, “If you eat and drink on time, and take your medicines. Also if you let me change your bandage and help you wash up. You've been in the same clothes for days now, you’re going to start to smell sooner or later.”

“I agree to the food part, but nobody is taking off my clothes without my permission.”

“If I was going to take off your clothes I would have done that while you were unconscious,” Link snorts, “I am going to take you to the bathroom, you can change them yourself. Nobody wants to take off your clothes, stop thinking like _that_.”

“If I am going to stay closed up here without any clue as to why I am here, I am bound to think like _that_ ,” he explains.

“Just don't anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because you're safe, nobody is going to do anything to you. Especially not what you've been thinking.”

“What do you think I've been thinking?”

“Whatever disgusting thing you're thinking,” Link grunts, “No one is going to hurt you, you're safe.”

“I don't feel safe.”

“I don't care.”

“If you don’t, then why _are_ you taking care of me?”

Link doesn’t say anything, he just averts his eyes from Zayn to the tray of food he had placed on the table, “I figured you’d be hungry, so I made noodles and I also brought juice.”

Zayn doesn’t reply, mainly because he doesn’t know how to respond.

“You need to eat and drink if you want to get healthy,” Link says, “Please, eat something.”

“Will you let me talk to my mom, then?”

“Depends on how much you cooperate,” Link says.

“What if I listen to you and then you don’t let me talk to her?”

“I promise you, I will,” Link says, “If you eat and drink properly.”

“Okay, water first. I am thirsty as hell.”

He watches as Link reaches for the glass and then steps forward, comes nearer. Zayn doesn’t try to back away this time because he has already tried and failed before. Also he is hungry, and he is so thirsty he might just die. So when Link holds the glass of water in front of Zayn’s lips, Zayn gives in and drinks the entire glass. He can feel Link’s eyes on him as he does, uneasiness spreading over his body but he tries to not let it creep under his skin.

“You need to eat as well,” Link says, placing the empty glass back onto the table, “Because you need to take your medicine.”

“I am not taking anything you give me,” he says, licking his wet lips to get every last drop of water in.

“You just drank the water though,” Link says.

“I’ll eat the food too,” Zayn says, “But no medicines, I don’t like them, I don’t want them.”

“Listen,” Link takes an impatient breath, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, I’ll not force you. But when it comes to your medication, I won’t blink twice before letting my friend take over and injecting you with it if you don’t take it willingly. Because I want to keep you safe, and I am not going to compromise when it comes to your health. So let me ask you one more time, Zayn. Will you take your medicine or do I have to take other measures?”

Zayn contemplates for a moment, doesn’t understand why he’s being so careful with him, why he even cares enough, why isn’t he showing his true colours already? But then he figures this might be a part of his plan, the bigger plan that Zayn’s not getting right now. Maybe they want Zayn healthy and not injured and fragile, maybe that’s why Link sounds so concerned and anxious about him. Because he’s working for someone who’s keeping Zayn here and he has to answer to them. Yeah, that makes perfect sense in his mind. Why else would he agree to let him talk to his mom, no captor in their right mind would do that? Unless, he was bluffing.

“Who’re you working for?” he blurts out his thought.

“What?” Link asks.

“Who’re you working for?” he repeats.

“Who am I working for?” Link asks, confusion evident in his voice.

“Yeah,” he says, “Who asked you to bring me here, who’s paying you, what do they have against me?”

“You’re talking nonsense,” Link shakes his head.

“You don’t have to do this, you can free me and we can go to the police, you can tell on them,” he blabbers, “We can get them caught, you’ll be free then.”

“Zayn, you’re not making any sense,” Link says, “I’m not working for anybody, there’s no one.”

“Then who paid you to bring me here?”

“Nobody did,” Link says, “Money is not even involved!”

“Then why am I here, what do you want if you don’t want money, why won’t you tell me?”

“I will tell you–”

“Don’t say when it’s time, don’t.”

“When it’s time.”

“God,” he slams the back of his head against the wall behind him, “Why won’t you just let me go?”

He can feel the burn in his eyes when he shuts them and takes slow breaths. He can’t cry right now but the hot tears collecting behind his eyes betray him, he feels them when they start to fall and after a moment, he feels a gentle finger wipe one away. His eyes shoot open as he looks up into Link’s, who instantly jerks his ungloved hand back away.

“Don’t cry,” Link pleads, taking a step back, pulling the glove back on, and not meeting Zayn’s eyes. It’s very weird to watch him fumble like that, uncertainty in every move.

“I’m not crying,” he finds himself saying, because for some reason he can’t see Link staring at the ground like that, wringing his hands like Zayn is making him uneasy when it should be the other way around.

“You are.”

“I’m just frustrated is all,” he says.

“Zayn, I don’t want to see you cry. Ever,” Link says, “Look, I promise I’m not working for anybody. And for the hundredth time, I won’t hurt you and won’t let anyone hurt you while you’re here. I also promise you’ll be out of here, completely unharmed. So you’ve nothing to be afraid of. So please, just don’t cry.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he says hurriedly, the thickness and guilt in Link’s voice causing him to lift his cuffed hands up and try to wipe at the wetness on his face, “I won’t, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry, you’re doing nothing wrong,” Link shakes his head, finally looking up to meet Zayn’s eyes again, “Please Zayn, eat something and take your medicine. You’ve got to let me help you.”

“Okay,” he nods, “But you’ll have to uncuff me so I can eat.”

Link looks at him for a moment, Zayn can swear he has got his eyes raised, “You think I’m going to fall for that?”

“Even if I wanted to I couldn’t run away, I am visibly too injured to move,” he says, “And you can stay right here, so if I try to run away or whatever, you can stop me. I don’t think I’d be able to fight you, and I don’t think I am going to make a run for it while you’re here. So uncuff me, and I’ll eat.”

Link keeps staring at him for a few more moments, he wishes he could see his face, try to percept what he might say.

“Look, I believe you, I believe that you aren’t working for anyone and you won’t hurt me,” he says, he’s surprised when he realizes he actually means what he’s saying, “So try believing me too.”

“Okay,” Link says after a moment, “But I’ll only free one hand, the other I’ll cuff to the bed so that you stay put.”

“Okay,” he says, not really understanding the calm that seems to have settled over him. But he knows one thing for sure, if Link can say ‘yes’ to uncuffing him, he might just say ‘yes’ to other things as well. He might actually let him talk to his mom.

Coming forward, Link pulls out a key from his back pocket and unlocks the handcuff, loosening it out of Zayn’s right wrist. When he tries to cuff Zayn’s left wrist with the bed, pain shoots through Zayn’s left shoulder and he hisses, wincing.

“What, does that hurt?” Link asks, his grip around Zayn’s hand loosening.

“I don’t think I can move my arm like that yet,” he says.

“Oh, obviously you can’t, it’s your left shoulder, you’ve got a wound there- I’m sorry, I’ll have to cuff the right one.”

“No, but I eat with my right hand.”

“Eat with your left today.”

“No, I am not going to.”

“Zayn–”

“I am not going to eat at all if I can’t with my right hand.”

“Okay, okay! Wait a second then, fuck.”

Link leaves his side, letting his hands fall on his lap. And Zayn knows he could reach for the lamp, hit Link on the head with it and make a run for it. But he also knows how badly he’d fail at it because of his current condition. So he just lies back and watches as Link slides a chair between the side table and his bed, places the tray of food on his lap and cuffs Zayn left hand with his right.

“You’re going to stay linked to me then,” he says, taking the chair he had placed beside the bed, “So that you definitely don’t run.”

“I could have run when you went all the way over there to get the chair,” he says.

“No, you couldn’t have, you’d have fallen down on your face,” Link says, “Now shush, and eat your food.”

Zayn does. All the while noticing things about Link; he keeps playing with the cloth of his black jeans, drumming fingers impatiently on his thigh, constantly moving his legs and feet. He’s fidgety and bored, Zayn can tell because he’s felt like this so many times in his physics classes.

“How old are you?” he asks.

Link’s head jerks up to look at him, “What?”

“How old are you?” he asks again, chewing on bland noodles.

Link blinks, once, twice, “Same age as yours.”

“How do you know how old I am?”

“I just do.”

“Okay,” he shrugs, “What are your hobbies?”

“What are my hobbies?” Link gives him a look, “What- what are you doing Zayn?”

“Making conversation,” he replies.

“There is no need,” Link says.

“There is, I’m bored. And so are you.”

“I’m not.”

“You said you were you going to be honest with me.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did, I’ve got a great memory, I remember.”

“Basketball and FIFA.”

“What?”

“My hobbies are getting beat at basketball by my best friend and beating him at FIFA.”

“Oh, you like FIFA?”

“Best game on the planet.”

“I am more into interactive, adventure games. Where you get to do missions and everything.”

“Okay,” Link replies, uninterestingly.

“Do you go to school?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

“Can’t tell.”

“You go to my school, don’t you?”

“No.”

“You do, otherwise you’d tell me which school.”

Link looks at him, his eyes seem furious, but his voice doesn’t, “You’re smart.”

“Are you in my year?”

“You’re figuring out everything by yourself, why don’t you figure out that by yourself as well?”

“I am going to assume that you are.”

“Assume whatever, Zayn.”

“Because I know I’ve seen you, I’ve seen your eyes before and I’ve heard your voice before.”

Link’s entire demeanor changes as he stands up suddenly. Zayn seems to have ignited something with his words.

“I think you’ve had enough to eat,” Link’s voice is gruff now, unlike it was a second ago, “Put the fork down.”

“No, I am still not finished,” he says, continuing to slurp the noodles inside his mouth, unaffected by Link’s commands.

“I can’t stay here, I’m linking you to the bed,” Link says.

“Okay, if you want me to be in pain.”

He just watches Link’s eyes switch back and forth his face and the plate of food on his lap, like he doesn’t know what to do. Zayn relishes in the uncertainty, he should be the helpless one here but he can’t believe how Link is the one who looks torn.

“I am sorry for what I said,” he says, “Sit back down, I will not make comments about your identity again.”

“No, I am not conversing with you anymore, you have five more minutes to finish your food and then I’m out,” Link says sternly. He doesn’t sit, he just turns away from Zayn, his hand still linked to his, hanging in the air between them.

Zayn puts all his weight in his left arm and suddenly pulls it down, jerking Link’s hand with his, catching him off guard and causing him to almost lose his balance.

“What’re you doing?” Link fumes.

“My hand hurts if you keep it hanging in the air like that,” he replies, nonchalantly, resting his left hand along with Link’s on the bed.

Link is bent down low, and again, Zayn can almost feel the hesitation radiating from him. He keeps his eyes on the food though, eating it as slow as he can, and doesn’t even glance at Link. After a few moments, he hears him sigh and get settled on the chair again. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, feeling Link’s eyes on him. The strange part is, his gaze doesn’t make him uncomfortable anymore. He doesn’t even care if he’s being stared at.

“You’re deliberately eating slow,” Link states, breaking the silence.

“You can’t prove that,” he looks up at him.

“Please, be quick, you have to take your medicine.”

Zayn doesn’t reply, chewing even slower.

“Are you stalling from taking your medicine? You agree you–”

“I don’t like medicines; I don’t like their smell, their taste, their existence. It’s like medication phobia or something. I don’t like going into hospitals and pharmacies either.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Only my mom knows. Nobody else does,” he says, “I don’t let it show because it’s just- strange, I guess. I just come up with excuses or something if my father sends me to the drug store, and I’ve never been in an accident so fatal that I had to go to a hospital.”

“You must have gone to the hospital sometime,” Link says.

“Yeah when I was really little and drank down an entire bottle of some cough syrup because it was sweet, I fainted. And then woke up in a hospital,” he says, “Since then, I’ve not really been to a hospital. Just this clinic that a family friend has opened in his house. He’s a pediatrician and he’s always been my doctor, been taking care of me for far too long. My mother just always called him up if I fell sick.”

“And how did you get better without medicine?”

“Oh no, I do take them. But it’s not a pleasant sight to watch. Like I feel like throwing up and I have to like keep it in, it’s just not pleasant.”

“I’ve seen you in a more unpleasant state,” Link says.

“I don’t think anything could be more displeasing.”

“You don’t qualify to make that statement unless you’ve seen yourself lying broken in the snow, with a shard of glass sticking out of your leg, covered in cold blood,” Link says thickly, his voice cracking at the end, “And your face pale, very pale.”

“Is that how you found me?”

“It was worse than that, I can’t talk about it.”

He wants to ask so many questions, but he stays silent because of the remorse evident in Link’s voice. Zayn finishes his food in silence, and lets Link remove the dish from his lap and cuff his hands back together. He watches him walk over to the study desk and grab the brown bag that had been lying on it, coming back to Zayn.

“There’s a syrup and there are two tablets,” Link says, “You have to drink the syrup two times a day, my friend was injecting you with it when you were unconscious, but now you’re awake so he doesn’t think you need injections. And the tablets, one each every day.”

Zayn makes a face, swallowing hard, “I don’t th–”

“If this wasn’t necessary, I wouldn’t be asking you to take them Zayn,” Link says, gravely.

“I’d rather die than take those,” he states.

“Don’t say that again,” Link says, “Don’t be stupid. Now, how do you take them? Is there a procedure–”

“I swallow real fast so I don’t feel it,” he says hurriedly, wanting this to be over before it can even start, “And I also close my eyes so my mum makes me take it.”

“Okay,” Link nods, handing Zayn the glass of juice, “The syrup first, or the tablets?”

“Tablets, I guess. They’re easier, they leave no after taste.”

“Okay, shut your eyes then.”

Zayn does, sticking his tongue out. He hears Link popping out the pills from their case. The moment he feels two little tablets being placed on his tongue, he raises his glass, downing half of it in one go. He squeezes his eyes, wincing when he feels the medicine going down his throat and he waits to feel the bile rising, but there is a hand pressing into the middle of his back, rubbing soothing circles, pressing in comfortingly and he focuses on that touch instead until he’s able to breathe again.

“You fine?” Link asks, standing right beside him, his hand still rubbing Zayn’s back.

“Yeah,” Zayn nods.

“Good,” Link says, proceeding to pour the syrup into a spoon and then he’s holding it in front of Zayn’s mouth, “Okay, ready?”

Zayn sucks in a sharp breath and shuts his eyes, “Yeah.”

The moment he opens his mouth, there is a spoon sliding inside it and he tastes the bitter taste of whatever shit is on it. He swallows as fast as he can, but the bitter taste clings to his mouth and he cringes badly. There is a hand in his hair, caressing his scalp softly and he shakes his head, because the taste isn’t going away even after he has drank the remaining half of the juice. He turns his head, grimacing, and he presses his face against Link’s abdomen. The hand in his hair stills for a second, but then it’s massaging his scalp softly again. He keeps swallowing over and over, eyes shut, as he breathes Link’s cologne in and out, Link humming something over him.

He doesn’t know how long does it take for him to calm down, but until he does, Link doesn’t leave his side. Doesn’t stop stroking his hair, rubbing his back or move away to keep him from pressing his forehead against his body. It’s when he finally settles back down on the pillows, the pungent taste gone from his mouth, that Link leaves his side. Zayn watches him pick up the tray of utensils and just when Link is about to leave, Zayn clears his throat.

“What?” Link looks at him, “You need something?”

“Where’re you going?” he asks.

“Upstairs,” he replies, shortly.

“Will you come back?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’ll come to check on you.”

“When you come back, can you bring me a cigarette?”

“You need a cigarette?” Link asks.

“Yeah,” he says, “Please.”

“If I bring you a cigarette, will you let me, or my nurse friend, change your bandages and put ointment on your wounds?”

He bites his lip, considers if he should agree on letting Link or some strange nurse touch his skin like that. But he also knows it’s important if he has to heal. Without healing, there’s no way out of here. He already learnt that when he had tried to escape before. And he finds himself nodding, recalling the feel of the soothing hand that had been stroking his scalp a moment ago, keeping him calm.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, “You can do it. Not your friend. You.”

“Okay,” Link nods, “I’ll bring you a cigarette when I come back.”

And then once again, he’s gone out of the door, followed by the sound of a lock clicking.

—-

The peculiarity of the situation is that he isn’t afraid anymore. There is a tiny nag in his brain that keeps reminding him of all the possible endings his current situation could have but a part of him tells him how none of that is going to actually happen if he stays under Link’s supervision.

Because Link; he’s strange. In movies and shows, he’s seen kidnappers be ruthless and merciless to their captors, and all Link has done is serve him. He hasn’t touched him once without his permission, hasn’t really forced him into anything either. Since the last two days, he’s been changing his bandages and bringing him cigarettes, feeding him good food, being right by his side when he’s swallowing his medicine and has literally carried him to the bathroom a couple of times. He even uncuffed him once he was in the bathroom, locking the door and letting him do whatever he wanted inside without interrupting him. Zayn had checked the bathroom for windows but the only one it had was too high, and the only other opening was where the exhaust fan was; it would have caused too much noise if he had tried anything with that.

The other strange thing is, that he’s used to this basement-room now. It’s actually something he wouldn’t have expected a week ago, when he was brought here. Yes, it’s been a week. At least, that’s what Link told him this morning. He’s not shocked to wake up on a single bed, a hundred pillows underneath him and a pile of blankets on top of him. He’s not shocked to see a masked man bring him breakfast and sitting with him, watching him eat with his hand linked to his. He isn’t uneasy when Link rolls his sleeves up to rub ointment on his bruises, when he cleans the wound on his leg, which is getting better every day.

The lock turns and Zayn pulls him out of this thoughts straightening up, it’s a reflex for him now; alerting to the click of the lock. When Link comes in, Zayn is surprised to see he’s not in his usual black anymore. After an entire week of parading around in black shirt and jeans, he’s now wearing blue jeans under a tight white shirt, coupled with a denim button-up over it. He’s not wearing gloves either, his hands out in the open. Also, what’s more surprising is that the mask is different, or maybe it’s the same one but now there is another oval-shaped opening where Link’s lips are. Zayn can see the full pink of Link’s lips when he nears him and there is a familiarity to them too.

“Hey,” Link gives him short smile, “It’s time to change the bandages.”

That smile, that does something to his brain, he _knows_ he’s seen it before, “You upgraded your costume.”

“Yeah, I was getting tired of wearing the same shit every day,” Link replies, casually, placing the pack of bandages and some clothes on the side table, beside the lamp.

“This is better,” he comments, “Less fear inducing.”

“I looked fear inducing before?”

“You looked like a threat.”

“You could’ve told me that,” Link says.

“And you’d have changed then?”

“Yeah, obviously,” Link says.

“Oh.”

There is a pause.

Then Link says, “Anyway, my friend says it’s time you get off that bed and start walking. You need to start moving that leg.”

“So that’s what we’re doing today?”

“Yeah, but after you get cleaned up.”

“What?

 “Well, since I changed. I think it’s time for you to get clean too. Before your clothes start to decay.”

“Yeah, I do smell,” he nods.

“So we’ve got two options,” Link says, “I carry you to the toilet and you do it yourself, if you think you’ll be able to. Or I could do it; I’ll keep my eyes closed.”

“How’re you going to see what you’re doing if you keep your eyes closed?”

“Okay, then I could help you with washing the- uh, top part? And you can do the bottom part, yourself?” Link says, uncertain.

“Yeah, that could work,” he says.

Link carries him all the way to the toilet, sitting him atop the toilet seat’s lid. He goes back out, leaving Zayn there, until he’s back with the pile of bandages and clothes he had brought with him. He sets them on the shelf near the basin. Zayn watches him sort them out; there’s a red, fleece hoodie, cotton trousers and blue boxers, along with two towels, a large brown one and a smaller one. There’s also a tattoo Zayn notices; an eagle with its wings spread across the back of Link’s hand. Zayn has never seen that tattoo ever before, but he’s gotten enough tattoos to know that the ink on Link’s hand is fairly new.

Link uncuffs him before asking, “So, can I take off your shirt?”

“Remember when you said nobody wants to take off my clothes, look where we are,” he says, raising his hands when Link reaches for the hem of his shirt.

“I don’t _want_ to take off your clothes, I just _have_ to,” Link says, slowly removing Zayn’s dirty shirt off his body, making sure his fingers don’t touch skin. He then takes Zayn’s left hand and cuffs it to the tap beside the toilet seat.

Zayn lets him, already knows complaining won’t do him any good, feeling exposed when air hits his skin, “I’m cold.”

“Just wait and soon you won’t be,” Link says, as he gets the water running and waits until it starts giving off steam, then he soaks the towel in warm water and soap, and brings it over to Zayn, “Ready?”

“Yeah,” he nods.

He feels the towel on his back first, rubbing wetly from the nape of his neck to the bottom of his spine. Then across his shoulder blades, over his shoulder. Link goes to the soak the towel in water again, and Zayn sits, feeling water droplets dripping down his back. Link cleans his chest next, looking everywhere but at Zayn’s face. Then his arms, underneath his arms, so gentle as if he’s washing up a baby, not an eighteen year old boy. He’s extra soft with wherever the bruises are; over his left shoulder and scattered over his abdomen. The neck is next, his fingers lifting Zayn’s chin as he bends over him, wiping every inch of his neck clean. Link keeps humming a song all throughout, but Zayn doesn’t catch a single word, just gets lost somewhere in the tranquil sound and the gentle press of the warm towel.

After that, Link dries him up with the large towel, making sure he gets every drop of water off him. When he’s done, he unlinks Zayn’s hand again. Helps Zayn get into the red hoodie, which is soft and warm inside, and smells of a heavy cologne Zayn hasn’t ever smelled before.

“Okay,” Link says, washing his hands, “So like, now I am going to wait outside, and you take your time to clean up the rest. Just call me if you need anything. Don’t try to run.”

Link turns around, about to leave when Zayn stops him.

“No Li, wait.”

Link stills instantly, but he doesn’t turn around. Then very slowly, he does. Faces Zayn, eyes wide, mouth ajar.

“What did you call me?” Link’s voice is grave when he asks.

“Li,” he answers, nervous because why is Link reacting like this to a harmless nickname, “Short for Link.”

“Oh,” Link breathes, relaxing visibly, “Okay, but why don’t you just call me Link?”

“Link’s weird. You could’ve at least picked a better name that wouldn’t make me laugh when I try to say it.”

“I said the first name that came to my mind,” Link replies.

“Link is not even a name,” he says, “I’m sticking to Li.”

“It is a name, and I’m not even going to talk you out of this because when do you ever listen to me.”

“I always listen to you,” he retorts, “You said I had to wash up and I agreed.”

“Okay, then don’t call me Li, just call me Link.”

“No.”

“See,” Link clicks his fingers, “Got you.”

Zayn finds himself smiling at that, “Anyway, don’t go. I can’t wash up by myself; I won’t even be able to reach the sink.”

“But–”

“We can leave my briefs on,” he offers, “And then you can help me out. I’m not going to get entirely naked.”

“Yeah, okay,” Link says, “So yeah, I’ll have to tie your hands back then.”

He lets him, this time Link ties them behind his back.

“Let’s get your trousers off now, yeah?”

Hesitantly, Link sits in front of him. Zayn opens his legs to give him space, lifting himself a little with difficulty. He can see the shivers in Link’s fingers when they reach his waistband, and slide it down hastily. Link helps him get out of his trousers, pulling his feet out of them, and throws it aside. It’s evident how much Link is trying for his fingers to not touch Zayn’s skin and it both endears and irks him for some reason.

Slowly, Link removes the white bandages wrapped around Zayn’s shin, revealing the horizontal, purplish wound in the middle of it. It smells heavily of the ointment and pain balms Link has been putting on it since the last couple of days.

“Tell me whenever it hurts okay,” Link tells him, reaching for the wet towel, and soaking it in warm water again. He brings it down on Zayn’s wound, cleaning it off all the stickiness with gentle swipes. Whenever it hurts, Zayn hisses loudly, causing Link to stop his movements and look up at him with concerned eyes, “You okay?” And only continuing when Zayn nods. Link cleans his thighs and his legs, rubbing the towel all over and freeing him off the dirt that somehow still stuck to him.

He watches the top of Link’s head, the black cloth of his mask, wondering what colour his hair is. In his mind, it’s brown. Link lathers some more ointment on his wound, before bandaging it up. He stands, washes his hands in the sink and turns back to Zayn, “Now, you wash up the rest. You know. And then just call for me and I’ll come back, help you get in your trousers.”

He uncuffs Zayn, hands him the pair of boxers and places the soap and wet towels beside him before he leaves, the metal toilet door shutting behind him. Zayn slides out of his briefs, hissing of pain whenever he makes a wrong move, washes himself up and gets into the boxers as fast as he can. He’s cold is one, and he kind of wants Link back in the small toilet with him is the second.

“Li,” he says loudly, voice echoing in the bathroom, “I’m done.”

He gets no answer. He waits for a moment.

“Li, are you there?”

He doesn’t like the feeling settling in his chest when there is no reply again.

“LI!”

Anxiousness takes over, and he begins to get up, placing a hand on the wall, and one on the back of the toilet seat. He doesn’t know why Link isn’t replying, he said he’d be right outside. He is about to take a step forward, when the door opens and he looks up to see who it is, instinctively letting go off the wall. His entire weight falls on his bad leg and he loses balance.

Before he hits the ground though, an arm goes around his body keeping him up. His hands clutch at Link’s biceps to steady himself up, as Link stares down at him, saying in a scolding tone, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I was coming to find you, where were you?” he asks imploringly, nails digging into Link’s denim; he’s not the one at fault here, why is he being scolded?

“I just went upstairs for a bit, my mom was on the phone,” Link answers, helping him sit on the toilet seat again, “You can’t stand without support right now, you can’t put that much pressure on your leg, Zayn. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“You said you would be outside, I called for you and you didn’t reply,” he complains, “Don’t say you’ll be outside if you aren’t going to be.”

Link looks down at him, sighing, “Okay, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have left if it was anyone else on the phone, but it was my mom. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says, “I’m done washing up, by the way.”

“Good, okay,” Link says, grabbing the grey cotton trousers he had brought and kneeling in front of Zayn, to help him into them.

“Where is your mom?” he asks him.

“She went to visit my dad,” Link says, slowly bringing his trousers up until they’re at his thighs.

“Where is your dad?”

“He’s in Belgium, he works there. We go to visit him during holidays.”

“You didn’t go this time,” he says, lifting himself again to pull the trousers all the way up.

“Yeah,” Link replies, straightening up, “I had to prepare for the finals. And my best friend was staying back too, so I decided to keep him company.”

“You didn’t stay because of me then?” he asks, watching Link closing the tap and clearing everything away.

“What?” Link turns to face him.

“You didn’t stay because of this plan of kidnapping me?”

Link seems to cringe at the word ‘kidnapping’ and says, “I had no plans of bringing you here, until I saw you lying in the snow. This wasn’t preplanned at all.”

Zayn asks, “So why did you bring me here instead of calling for help?”

“I don’t know, I just knew then that I had to,” Link says, “That that was my chance.”

“Your chance of what?” he asks.

“Of–” he stops short, “I can’t explain it to you right now. I’ll tell you when I let you go,” Link says, coming towards him, “Now, c’mon. Let’s get you out of here.”

“What about my hair?” he asks.

“What?”

“We didn’t wash my hair, it’s so greasy and oily,” he says.

“Oh, I forgot about- shit,” Link slaps his forehead, clearly upset, “You’ll have to take your clothes off again, we’ll have to do everything again. Shit, I’m sorry I should’ve–”

“Chill, Li,” he shakes his head, “I can wash my hair if you hold me and keep me standing next to the sink.”

“How’re you going to do that?”

“You’ll see,” he says, he lifts his right arm towards Link, “Now help me up.”

Link comes to him and bends, letting Zayn slide an arm around his neck. Zayn’s hand so close to where the ski mask ends, and a bulb lights up in his head. But then Link holds Zayn’s right hand tightly, sliding an arm around his waist to help him up. He walks him to the sink, in a way that Zayn doesn’t even have to put any weight on his legs.

“Okay, what now?” Link asks.

“Stand behind me and just hold my waist,” he says, “Just keep me from falling.”

“Okay,” Link says, immediately going behind him, his hands locked together over Zayn’s stomach, arms tied securely around his waist, the length of his body pressed to the back of Zayn’s, “Like this.”

“Yeah,” he says, staring at the masked figure in the mirror, wants to laugh at how he should be afraid but actually isn’t, “Don’t let me fall.”

Suddenly, Link lifts him up, so that his feet are touching the ground only slightly. His eyes remain locked with Zayn’s in the mirror.

 “You think I’d let you fall?” Link says lowly, his breath falling on Zayn’s ear.

“No, I’m just saying,” he swallows, watching Link’s lips move in their reflection.

“You don’t have to say it. I wouldn’t let you fall even if the ground slips from beneath my feet. Believe me.”

The strange part is that Zayn does.

Pulling his eyes away from Link’s gaze, he picks up the shampoo, opens the tap and bends down, until his head is under the tap, the running water wetting all his hair. It’s a bizarre position that he and Link are in, but he tries his best not to think about that. About how his ass is pressing back on Link’s crotch and how Link’s hands are splayed over his stomach, strong arms holding him protectively. He quickly shampoos his hair, washing them as much as he can under the water, until he’s done.

Link figures he’s done when he closes the tap and retrieves one hand from over his abdomen to grab a towel. He hands it to him and Zayn dries his hair, with Link breathing down his neck. Then Link cuffs him again and helps him walk out; he doesn’t carry him this time, which Zayn would have preferred because he feels tired again. Link makes him walk twice around the perimeter of the room, telling him to stay quiet because this is exercise to get his leg moving okay, soon. Zayn obliges, leaning into Link as much as he can as he tries to use his left leg whenever he finds it easy to.

When Link drops him back on the bed, Zayn is sweating again, breathing heavily.

“You look tired, maybe rest a little,” Link says, plumping pillows for him and putting them behind his back, “You get tired so easily.”

“It’s because I’m not well,” he says, leaning back into the pillows and letting Link cover him with blankets.

“Are you hungry?” Link asks, “Need something?”

“No,” he says.

“Okay, sleep tight then.”

“I’m not sleepy.”

“You’re tired.”

“Yeah, but I’m not sleepy.”

Link narrows his eyes, so familiar, _god_ , “It’s one in the morning Zayn, and you’ve been awake since 10 AM. Go to sleep, you need it.”

Okay, he never knows the time; he didn’t even know it was that late. It doesn’t seem like it’s one in the morning to him if he’s being honest.

“I don’t think it is,” he says.

Sighing, Link pulls out a phone from his pocket, and clicks it open. It’s Zayn’s phone, he recognizes the Green Lantern phone case Louis bought him immediately.

“Look, I’m not lying,” Link shows him the screen, all three of his sisters’ smiling at him from the lock screen. He misses them. He misses his mum and Louis.

“Didn’t my mom call?” he asks, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“No, she just messages you asking how you are, I reply that you’re fine,” Link says, “She still doesn’t have good reception there.”

“Okay,” Zayn says, and then something clicks in his mind, that hadn’t before, “Wait, how’d you know my phone password?”

“Uh,” Link purses his lips, swallows, hesitates and then says, “I have a friend who- uh cracks passwords.”

Zayn knows he’s lying but he doesn’t push it; maybe because he’s too tired to, or maybe because he has a feeling Link is not going to give him the correct answer. Maybe later he will, but not right now. He just knows. So he just nods and sinks back into bed, “Okay, Li. I believe you.”

He shuts his eyes, and turns away to face the other side. He doesn’t hear anything for some long minutes, except the sound of himself breathing and Link breathing. Then he hears soft footsteps, walking away, the familiar sound of a door opening and before the expected click of the lock, “Goodnight, Z.”

—-

A chirp voice, he’s grown accustomed to retrieves him back from sleep.

Fluttering his eyes open, he blinks them a few times, until a figure comes in focus, right in front of him, looking down at him, lips moving, “–if you don’t wake up early, you’re going to be awake all night.”

He feels so warm he doesn’t want to get out of bed at all; doesn’t feel like– his breath stops short when he fully becomes aware of the familiar warmth spreading all over his pelvic region. With another pang of alarm he feels his dick pressing up into the heavy quilt lying over him, balls tight. Feeling hot around the face, he slides his conjoined hands down, trying to cover his dick with his hands. Make it go down again by some miracle. The moment his hands touch the fabric above his erection though, a sharp tingle runs around his pelvis and he bites his tongue. He can’t believe he is hard and sensitive, and he can’t believe Link is standing an inch away from his bed, pouring juice in a glass.

“C’mon let’s get you up and fresh,” Link is saying, he is chirpy today, dressed in a simple black hood and dark blue jeans, smiling, “Breakfast is waiting. I made French toast.”

Before Zayn can even say a word, which he doubts he could even form, Link is reaching out for the blankets. Zayn almost shouts, trying to get hold of the covers but his cuffed hands are unable grab onto the quilt and hide his crotch from sight at the same time. Link pulls the covers off him, eyes immediately falling on Zayn’s hands trying to cover his obvious erection.

Zayn tries to fold his legs but his feet are tied down below and he can’t manage to do that. Link freezes for a second, stares at what Zayn’s failing to hide and then his eyes gradually glance back up to meet Zayn’s eyes. Zayn wants to look away but he can’t, there is a loud thrumming in his chest as he stares right at Link. He watches Link’s Adam’s Apple bob, mouth falling apart. He seems to have his eyes locked with Zayn’s, whose cheeks burn intensely, heart sinking faster than a wrecked ship. Waiting for some kind of a reaction from Link but the masked guy looks completely transfixed.

It’s a blur what happens next; Link is throwing the blankets on him again, as if someone’s suddenly hit rewind, and hastily walking out of the room, almost tripping on his own steps at the exit. The door bangs loudly when it flies shut, the lock turns and Zayn curses under his breath, “Fuck.”

His head falls back on his pillows, his breath coming in short intervals. He keeps massaging his thighs over his trousers, one by one, running his hands up and down, not touching his erection because he doesn’t want to cum and make a mess in whose ever boxers he is wearing. Jerking off is the last thing on his mind, he’s still hot around his neck, his entire face burning because of the awkwardness that still looms over his head. Pleasure or excitement isn’t present anywhere.

Shutting his eyes tightly, he thinks of every mundane thing he can recall, thinks of Louis and that math sum he couldn’t get himself to understand.. Holds his breath and pinches himself, tries to concentrate on the pain rather than the heat pooling around his erection. He keeps running circles all around his lower region, waiting for his dick to soften down completely. It is minutes until that happens, and another couple of minutes until Zayn finally stops recalling Link’s expression, the way he had gulped, and decides to move again.

There is his breakfast waiting for him on the side table; usually Link takes him to the toilet first, where he pees and washes his face, rinses his mouth before eating but Zayn doesn’t know when Link will return. So he twists his body a little, reaches out with both hands, and grabs a slice of French toast anyway. He bites into it, stomach grumbling satisfactorily.

When the door of the basement opens again, he tries not to recall what happened before. Maybe if he doesn’t act awkward, Link won’t feel weird around him. Maybe if he ignores anything even happened, Link would completely forget about it.

The only thing is, that it’s not Link who comes over to him. It’s someone else. Taller, dressed in the tightest jeans Zayn has seen anyone wear, a long coat open from the front, a floral button up underneath. He’s got his face covered with Link’s ski mask; Zayn can’t tell who he is. But the green eyes confirm it’s not Link.

“Who’re you?” he asks.

The guy doesn’t reply, he starts typing on his phone instead. Acting as if he didn’t even hear the question. But then a moment later, a robotic female voice spills out of the phone, “ _Hi. I am Link’s friend_.”

“Can’t you talk?” he asks, eyeing his phone skeptically.

He starts typing, clicking away on the screen, “ _I can. But I can’t._ ”

“What is – forget it, I don’t care. Where is Li?”

Click, click, click, “ _Li?_ ”

“Link.”

Pause.

“ _He went to buy something._ ”

“Okay, why are you here?”

“ _He asked me to take care of you while he’s gone._ ”

“I don’t need you to, thanks.”

“ _Don’t you want to go the toilet?_ ”

“I do, but I’ll wait for Li.”

“ _Good. I wasn’t willing to do that._ ”

Link’s friend shrugs at Zayn before he walks over to the desk and perches himself on it. Leans against the back wall, and sighs.

“You can go, you don’t have to stay here and watch over me,” he says, discomfort creeping up his spine; he doesn’t like this guy and his watchful eyes, whoever he is.

“ _I don’t take orders from you._ ”

Zayn is quiet for a moment, maybe he could get some answers from this boy, “Who do you take orders from then?”

“ _Link._ ”

“Who does Li take orders from?”

“ _Why do you call him Li?_ ”

“Because I feel like it,” he replies agitated, “Who does Li take orders from?”

“ _Nobody._ ”          

“So he’s the head of all of this then?”

The guy frowns, Zayn can tell by the scrunching of his eyes, before he types, “ _Head of what?_ ”

“This kidnapping thing. Does he run all of this? Do you guys have a cult or something? And Link is the leader? And you all kidnap guys you find injured, talk to them through outdated apps? And after all of this, then what does Link do with us? And whatever it is he has to do with me, why hasn’t he up till now? What is he waiting for?”

Green eyes narrow at him, lips press in a thin line, fingers work angrily over the phone screen, “ _You’re a cynical bastard_.”

Zayn wasn’t expecting that response, “Well if you’re trapped in a place for so long without any connections to the outside world, without any idea of where you are, you jump to conclusions. Also, you’re sitting there with a mask on, not speaking. Outright creepy. What else am I supposed to think?”

Fingers type infuriatingly fast, “ _I don’t care what you think of me. But Li has been taking so much care of you so he has made sure you do not feel any kind of discomfort he does not properly sleep at night cuz he has to come here to check on you and you are thinking all sorts of appalling stuff about him._ ”

The guy pauses for a second, before typing again, giving Zayn no time to process all that the mechanical voice has already said, “ _Also I hope when all of this is over and Li finally lets you go he does not look back at you again_.”

The moment the voice stops speaking, the tall, slender guy is jumping off the table and making his way to the door. Zayn’s mind is too heavy with bewilderment to even question anything, or to ask him to stop. Also, he doesn’t think it’s his fault to make assumptions anyway. Anybody who has been brought to a foreign place and tied up would think like him. Why did that weird guy get so butt hurt over it? Zayn honestly doesn’t understand. And a minute later, he realizes, he doesn’t care either. He’d rather think about exactly when Link comes at night to check on him, and why he didn’t ever tell Zayn that he did that?

And when is he coming back? Will Zayn be able to look into his eyes again when he does?

—-

“Where were you?” is out of his mouth the moment he sees Link enter the room. He has managed to slide himself enough to be lying almost in a sitting position.

Link looks up at him, eyebrows raised. Surprised at Zayn talking to him normally after what happened in the morning or at the accusing tone of Zayn’s voice, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to figure out either. He has taken his time to come to terms with what happened and he has decided that he is just going to forget about it. And move on with Link, pretending that nothing out of the blue had occurred at all.

“Went out to buy smokes,” Links replies, glancing away as quickly as he had looked at Zayn, before he shuts the door behind him and comes over to stand by the bed. Not meeting Zayn’s eyes.

“Why did you send your weird friend in here?” he asks, trying to catch Link's eyes again.

He can't. Link isn't looking at him at all, placing a blue pack of cigarettes on the side table, “He isn't weird.”

“He was talking to me through an app,” he rolls his eyes.

Link pauses, “I am sorry if he made you uncomfortable.”

“Just don't send anyone else here,” he complains, “If you aren't around, you don't have to send creepy people to check up on me.”

“I figured you'd have to use the toilet so I sent him in,” Link says, still avoiding his eyes, fingers playing with the rim of the lamp shade.

“You thought I was going to let him take me to the toilet?” he asks.

“No, I told him to take you anyway,” he replies, observing the lamp as if it's the most amusing thing in the world.

Zayn keeps staring at the side of his black mask, “You mean you asked him to force me to go?”

“I knew you weren't going to just comply, so I asked him to talk you into it, yes,” Link says.

“He wouldn't have been able to talk me into anything,” he says, “He is not you. You should have come yourself.”

“I went to buy–”

“I know. You could have bought them later,” he says.

“I needed a–,” he sighs, “ Forget it, okay. Do you need anything?” He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to Zayn. Still not catching his eyes, staring directly at his hair instead of his face.

“I need to pee,” he says, “And I need you to look at me.”

“I am looking at you,” Link says.

“No, you're avoiding me,” he says.

“No, I am not.”

“You promised you weren't going to lie to me,” he retorts, doesn't know how many times he is going to use that.

Link opens his mouth and then closes it shut, rubs his face with his hands and then looks back up at Zayn, steadily meeting his eyes, “Okay, listen. I have to say something.”

“What?”

“I am sorry about this morning, I shouldn’t have just– you know, I–”

Zayn can feel that red hot pool of embarrassment at the bottom of his stomach, he tries to ignore it. He just wants to get past all the weirdness, he doesn't like the awkwardness that hangs thick between him and Link. It had taken time for him to get used to the idea of staring at a masked visage, get comfortable enough with Link conversing with him. He doesn't want the discomfort and unease to return, he loathed that feeling.

“We don't have to talk about it,” he says, meaningfully.

“No I–”

“Li, I am too ashamed to talk about it, that is why I want you to forget about it too,” he pleads.

“You don't have to be ashamed, it's biological–”

“Oh god, Li, stop,” he covers his face with both his hands, “Let's not, okay?”

“Okay,” Link chuckles, and Zayn removes his hand in surprise to find him smiling at him. This is the first time Link has smiled so big that the whites of his teeth show, “I was just trying to pull your leg.”

Zayn doesn't know what to say, he is taking in the array of crinkles beside Link's eyes that peek out from under the mask as he grins. He kind of gets lost in them until they disappear.  
  
“Zayn, so you want to go to the toilet?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” he nods, looking away from his eyes, “I need to wash up. And stuff.”

“Okay,” Link says, coming over to him, “Let's get you going, I kind of have a surprise for you later.”

“What surprise?” he asks, letting Link remove the blankets from over him.

“You'll see, it's a good one,” he gets in response, followed by a wink.

Zayn thinks he just skipped a breath. Or two.

—-

Link’s chair is directly beside his bed. Like always. He sits facing the wall behind Zayn, so that Link’s left hand is linked to Zayn’s left. The conjoined wrists lying side by side on the edge of the bed between them, mere inches away from each other.

Strangely, the fact they aren’t talking doesn’t feel awkward or discomforting. It feels normal, like it’s with Louis. Reminds him of the times when Louis comes over and sprawls on his bean bag without a word to him, while he sits on the desk working. And none of them say a word; what are you doing, why are you here, how are you – because words aren’t needed. Either they already know, or they are fine not knowing. That’s how it’s becoming with Link now; sometimes when he comes to Zayn with a bottle of medicine, and no words are exchanged as he helps Zayn gulp down a spoonful. Or the times he comes with a plate of food, silently uncuffs Zayn’s wrist and cuffs it back with his own. Sitting beside him, eating with him, not speaking.

He keeps glancing at Link though, from time to time. Can feel Link’s eyes visiting him occasionally as well. His mind keeps going back to the surprise Link had mentioned before. Link hasn’t brought it up all day and it’s 11 pm now, according to the watch on Link’s wrist. A black tactical watch, more than half the students at his school wears a similar one. Anyway, he has already decided, if Link doesn’t tell him what surprise he had mentioned until midnight, Zayn is going to ask him about it. Because he’s getting agitated now, there hasn’t been a single second today where he hasn’t wondered what the surprise could be, if it’s even a good one? Is Link going to let him go, is Link going to reveal who he is, if none of that then what?

“What are you thinking?” Link asks, catching his attention.

“Stuff,” he replies.

“What stuff?” Link asks.

He shrugs in response, cleaning the last bits of food off his plate.

“Mind to share, huh?” Link says, picks off the plate off Zayn’s lap and places it over his. He places the plates beside his chair on the floor, and leans back into his chair; not bothering to unlink his wrist from Zayn’s licking his lips. Staring at him.

“No, it just won’t matter if I do,” he says, “You’re still going to do what you want, at your own time, so it’s not worth asking.”

“That’s not the case,” Link says, eyes narrowing, “I am surprised you’d think that.”

“So if I ask you to do something right now, you would?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“If it’s not–”

“No, it’s not about letting me free or telling me who you are.”

“Then yes,” Link replies, unblinking, “I would.”

“What was the surprise you were talking about? Tell me about it. Right now.”

He watches Link’s lips break into a grin, “Oh. So that’s what’s been bugging you all day?”

“I’ve been really curious,” he admits.

“Curiosity kills the cat.”

“And satisfaction brings it back.”

“Clever,” Link sniggers, “Okay then, you want to guess what the surprise is?”

“Well, I’m sure it’s not you letting me go because I know there’s still like five says until that,” he begins, “So maybe, you’re finally going to tell me who you are?”

Link gives a small smile at that, straightening up on the chair a bit, “I wish I could. Honestly, I do. But I’m not ready to– I don’t think this is the appropriate time, I don’t want to mess– I can’t, just not yet, okay. I can’t tell you yet.”

Bent forward now, Link is looking at him. Benign, chocolate brown eyes staring straight into his, the lamplight reflecting in them. Zayn finds himself unable to speak for a moment, busy finding a trace of pretence or malice in Link’s eyes. He can’t. He finds sincerity instead. Wonders if Link is faking it, wonders if he could be that good of an actor.

“Are you eventually going to tell me?” he asks, finding words, “Who you are?”

“I’ll have to,” Link says, “Otherwise; I won’t be able to get the answers that I want from you.”

“You need answers to what?” he asks in anticipation, heart drumming so loudly, he almost doesn’t hear his own voice.

“I’ll tell you soon,” Link says, “Not yet. We still have other things to figure out until we get there.”

“What things?” he insists, can’t believe Link is finally _actually_ giving him information.

“You’ll find that out soon too, we’ll get there,” Link says, moving back, “Now tell me, you want your surprise now or?”

He bites his lip, contemplating whether he should pressure Link some more or not. Then decides on the latter. Link has already said he’d tell him soon, so he’d rather not spoil the mood and drive Link away again.

“Okay, yeah, the surprise,” he nods.

“You’re going to like it.”

“How much?”

“Lots. I hope,” Link says. He watches Link pull out the key from his jean pocket before he disconnects his hand from his and links Zayn’s wrists back together with the handcuff.

Zayn is expecting Link to get up and go bring whatever surprise he has for him, but Link doesn’t. Instead, he just reaches for his own back pocket and pulls out Zayn’s phone from it. He unlocks it, swipes his fingers over the screen and then he is bending forward, facing the screen towards Zayn.

A Whatsapp conversation is open on the screen, and Link presses the triangle beside a voice note.

_“Hi beta, how are you? I was going to call you but the reception here is really bad, love. The girls say hi. We miss you a lot, we’re having a lot of fun here. All of us wish you had come too. Is everything fine over there, are you taking good care of yourself? How is your throat now? There is a cough syrup in the medicine cabinet if you need it, I’m sending you Dr. Zarish’s number as well if you need it, okay? Call her if your throat gets too bad. Don’t party too much, okay? Stay in and rest and study, no too much partying okay. I wish I was there right now, I’ll call you the moment I can. Take care, I love you, see you soon sunshine.”_

The voice note ends and he stares at the screen for a moment, swallowing the thick lump in his throat. It feels like ages since he last heard his mum’s voice, he didn’t know how much he was missing her. How much he wants to be engulfed in one of her warm hugs right now. He misses her face, her hot delicious food, her smile. He thinks he is going to cry.

“I tried calling her but couldn’t reach her, so I sent her a voice message. Pretending to be you obviously, that’s why she thinks you’ve got a bad throat. I thought she’d reply with a voice message too and she did, today,” Link says, “I promised I’d let you talk to her, so if you want to you can send one back too.”

Zayn looks up at him, lost for words. It’s too much for him; the sound of his mother’s voice ringing in his ears, full of love and concern, and the softness of Link’s eyes, bright and sincere.

“Hey Z,” Link says, brings a hand forward and wipes a tear off Zayn’s cheek. He can’t recall when he let a tear fall, “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?”

 _What’s wrong?_ That’s the stupidest question Link could have asked. As if it’s not obvious; he is trapped in a room, hasn’t been out for days, hasn’t seen his family, hasn’t met his best friend, doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know who he is here with. There’s so much shit that’s wrong. But then there are Li’s eyes; genuine concern, hooded with worry, he just shakes his head, “Nothing. I just miss her too much, is all.”

“Oh,” Link says, “She’ll be back in a week though. You’ll see her in a week.”

Zayn nods, turning his head and blinking away the tears he doesn’t want Link to see.

“I’m so sorry, I thought this would make you happy,” he hears Link say, “I didn’t know it’d make you sad.”

“I’m not sad,” he says, “I’m just,” he pauses, finds the word he’s searching for, “Frustrated.”

“Oh,” Link says, “I’m sorry to have caused that.”

The remorse dripping from Link’s voice makes him jerk his head back to face him again, “No it’s not because of you.”

It’s a lie. Part lie. Or whatever. Link makes his life in the confinement of the basement walls bearable but at the same time Link is the one who has confined him – he doesn’t really know how to describe anything anymore. He watches Link ease a bit, so maybe he figures, he said the right thing after all.

“So, do you want to send a note back to your mum?” Link asks, “She must be expecting one. Maybe you could tell her you don’t have a sore throat anymore so she doesn’t worry about you?”

“Yeah, yeah I want to,” he nods.

“Okay, speak when I press record,” Link says, holding the phone between them.

Zayn waits for the faint beep when Link clicks on the microphone icon, and he clears his throat.

“Hey mum, I'm fine now, yeah,” he sniffles, “Throat's better too, everything's okay. I miss you too. And the girls and dad, can't wait till you guys come back. I am studying, no partying I promise. Its okay if you can't call, I'll let you know if something is wrong myself. I love you mum, really do miss you so much.”

He glances up at Link from the phone screen, and nods. Link lets go off the record button.  
  
“That's all you want to say?” Link asks.

“Can’t exactly tell her anything else right,” he says, the last of his sentence drowning in a loud beep emitting from his phone. His eyes catch Louis’ name, a slight hint of the ‘ _REPLY FUCKER’_ underneath and then Link is quickly clicking the phone shut, removing it from Zayn's line of sight and shoving it back inside his pocket.

“That was Louis texting,” he says, staring at Link accusingly.

“I know,” Link nods, unaffected.

“Could you send him a text from me too?” he requests, , “Tell him I can’t reply because of poor wifi?”

“No.”

“If I can talk to my mum, why can't I talk to Louis?” he asks.

“Because that wasn't a part of our deal.”

“But–, listen I am not going to tell him anything about this I swear,” he pleads, “Just let me reply to him, he is going to worry if I am online and not replying.”

“I'll text him you didn't have a good connection so you couldn't reply,” Link says, clicking the phone shut and sliding it back into his pocket, “You need to understand that it is in fact possible to say no to Louis sometimes.”

“What?” he asks, frowning, not sure if he caught the words right.

“Nothing,” Liam shakes his head, bends down to pick up the empty plates off the floor, “I am going to go wash these up.”

“No,” he says firmly, face still in a scowl, “What did you say about me not saying no to Louis? Why did you say that?”

“Forget I said it,” Link grunts irritably, standing up, “I don't want to talk about whatever goes on between you and Louis.”

“It doesn't seem like you don't.”

“I don't care about anything that has to do with Louis.”

There is disdain in Link's voice, the kind Zayn hasn't heard in there ever before, “You say that yeah, but it seems to me like you hate Louis by the way you speak of him.”

“I don't hate him,” Link says, teeth gritting, “Why the fuck would I?”

“You do.”

“No.”  
  
“I’ve been here with you long enough to tell when you're lying you know,” he says, “You don't look directly at me and you start blinking real fast.”

There is a pause, he watches Link silently, Link's eyes scanning his face before they stop, meeting his, “Even if, hypothetically, I do hate him, it’s still none of your business.”

“But is kind of is,” he shrugs, “He is my best mate.”

Link visibly cringes at first, then rolls his eyes, “Yeah okay, and you are obviously up his ass. Kiss his feet. Never say no to him because you're afraid karma is going to kick you in the front and Louis might ditch you and move on to another best mate.”

Confused is what he is, half the shit Link is saying doesn't even make sense to him. But that isn't why he can feel something rising in his chest, hot and infuriating, that is because of the part that he does understand. Yeah, just maybe he doesn't stop Louis from doing most things because he knows what Louis is like and he doesn't want to lose Louis like he lost Liam. Out of nowhere, out of no reason.

“You don't know shit about me mate,” he says bitterly, flaring his nostrils, “Or about Louis and me. Stop assuming stuff because you are only making a fool out of yourself.”

Link's eyes narrow, as he lowers himself down on the chair again, setting the dishes back down on the floor as he speaks, “Actually, I hate to break this to you, but I know you more than you think I do.”

“Really? Like what?” he asks, voice challenging.

“Like you're a right coward,” Link  says, “Always running away from shit instead of dealing with it.”

“You don’t know me at all,” Zayn spits, the traces of truth in Link's words raising the temperature of his blood.

“You would rather let someone ruin your entire life for you than tell them no, you don't stand up for yourself,” Link says, “Like ever.”

“You’re fucking delusional! Don't even know what the fuck you're talking about.”

“I don’t think I don't,” Link says a bit louder now, stonier, “But you are a coward, and your denial isn’t going to change that.”

“Fuck you, Li.”

“You don’t want to go to that engineering university your father is sending you to, but do you confront him about it? No you don’t, instead you keep stalling him, you run away. Because you don’t have the fucking guts to stand up for what you want.”

His mouth runs absolutely dry all of a sudden, a faint ache in his head takes birth. How does Link know about that?

“How did you know that?” he asks in a low tone.

“Know what? About BUTE?” Link asks casually, like he hasn't just caused a tornado to start spinning in Zayn's mind.

“Yeah,” he says, “About BUTE.”

“You have friends. I have friends. Friends talk,” Link says, so nonchalant.

“I don’t have friends, I only have Louis and Louis would die before betraying my trust,” he says, his fingertips feel cold.

“I didn’t say Louis told me.”

“Then who did?”

“If I tell you, that’d be just boring, why don’t you wrack your smart brains and guess,” Link replies, leaning back into his chair, lips curved in a smug grin.

Zayn wants to punch his face. Since he can't do that right now, he asks instead, “If Louis didn't tell you, who did? Literally nobody knows about that except Louis.”

“Really? Nobody?”

“Well my mum and sisters do but they won’t tell you either, they know if this gets out my father is going to kick me out,” he says that with all the fear that he feels, staring right into Link's eyes. He wants Link to know that, he wants Link to keep his secret. Wants him to understand. And maybe Link does, because he doesn't say anything for a few moments, the grin falling of his face gradually.

Then in a low voice, brimming with disbelief, Link leans towards him and asks, “Your father will kick you out?”

“Yes,” he nods, feeling helpless.

“How do you know that?” Link's voice is softer now, eyes softer too, the kind Zayn is used to, “How do you know he'll kick you out? Has he threatened you?”

“No, he hasn't. But I have seen it happen before,” he confides, “You don't know my family.”

“So what, you're going to let your father plan out your life for you? You're going to let him keep you away from what you love to do?”

“I don’t want to hurt my father.”

“What about how he’s hurting you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, you've got no choice,” Link says, repeating his question, this time with firmness in his tone, his eyes, “What about how he’s hurting you?”

“He isn't hur–”

“Oh please Zayn, don’t start with me alright?” Link says, suddenly standing up on his feet, looking down at him, eyes scrunched, clearly frustrated, “You’ve loved music as long as I've– since forever. You keep that small diary book thing with you, scribbling song after song in it and that black sketch pad, drawing in everything you find interesting. So don’t lie to me saying your father isn’t taking everything you love away from you by making you do something you have no interest in!”

“The books,” he says, looking up into Link's furious eyes, completely baffled, “How did you know about the books? How did you know that?”

“I told you, I know about you more than you think I do.”

“Have you- have you been stalking me?” he asks, there is dread pooling in his chest because how does Link know everything, this is insane.

“No Zayn, I haven't been stalking you.”

“Then how do you know?” he asks in a voice so small, he wonders if Link even hears it.  
  
“Hey, Zayn,” Link bends down, reaches out and places a hand on Zayn's cheek. Zayn tries to shy away from it but he is unable to; it’s soft. The skin cupping his cheek is soft, and he sinks into it instead because it feels like– it's warm. Comforting, gentle.

Then Link speaks again, voice so close he can feel it actually hit his face, “You have spent a week with me, you know I'll not hurt you. So don't be afraid, yeah?”

“I didn't know how much you knew about me the past week,” he finds himself saying, eyes held in place by Link's, “You know stuff nobody knows about me. I have every reason to be afraid.”

Link's eyes search his face, “But I won't hurt you, like I have told you many times before, I am not going to harm you, and I swear on my life I haven't been stalking you. I haven't lied to you about anything and I am not planning to.”

“Then tell me how you know,” he pleads, the lump in his throat almost hurting.

Link bites his bottom lip, the pad of his thumb rubbing slightly, probably absentmindedly, over the ridge of Zayn's cheek, before he sighs and says, “About the BUTE thing, Niall told me. And the books, I will tell you when the time comes.”

“Niall?” he asks, gulping, a cage beginning to constrict around his heart, “What have you done to Niall?”

“I haven't done anything to Niall,” Link shakes his head, straightening up, removing his hand from Zayn's cheek, “Let’s just say, that Niall isn't really who you think he is.”

“What?” he asks, perplexed.

“He was my friend way before he was yours,” Link says, “And that is all you're getting out of me today.”

Before he can respond, Link is turning around. Hurried, heavy, footsteps echo in the room, before Link's figure disappears behind a door that closes shut with a loud bang behind him.

Zayn sinks back into the mountain of pillows behind him. Let's out a deep sigh, and rattles his brain, recalling how he had met Niall, how Niall already knew him, realization hitting him like a brick. Breathing heavily in the dim yellow of the room, he recalls every word Niall has ever said to him, trying to remember if Niall had let slip a name, trying to guess who Link really is. Just like he has done so many times before, and failed.

—-

“You ready to talk now?”

He hears Link speak from where he is perched on the study desk across the room. It's weird how the tables have turned; Link had come in today morning, plate of breakfast and medicine. Zayn's mind had been full to the brim with questions, he had refused to eat if Link didn't give him answers. And then Link had thrown him off; ‘ _Okay, we can talk but I have a condition. I tell you what I can, I give you answers that will calm you down. But you also have to answer me, everything I ask I need a reply. An appropriate one, a proper one. No lying. If we are talking, it's going to go both ways. So let me know whenever you're ready to start.’_

Zayn had just stared at him, watching him unlink his hands and helping him get off bed for the bathroom. Had asked him about how it was going to work. Link had explained. And now Zayn sits here, still wondering if he is ready. He has been ready forever to get answers, but to be the one on the giving end? When he doesn't even know what Link will ask of him? Doesn't know if he'll be able to answer anything? He's kind of in turmoil.

“I– I don't know,” he replies, “Maybe. Depends. I don't know.”

“Couldn't be more vague even if you wanted,” Link says.

“Uhm–,” he swallows, “Okay. Yes, I am ready.”

He isn't. Just doesn't want to drag the awkwardness out, it doesn't suit him. Functioning properly in discomfort is not his forte.

“Okay, you want to go first?”

He does, he's got the question waiting on the tip of his tongue since yesterday, “Niall? Explain Niall.”

“He's been a family friend for a long time, known him for ages and then he moved here.”

“Was he stalking me?”

“No, he wasn't,” Link shakes his head, jumps off the table, walks over to Zayn, “None of this was planned. So he wasn't stalking you or anything. Yes, what he knew about you assisted in a way, but what he told me about you, wasn't because I asked him to find out.”  
  
He nods after a moment of being unable to find a hint of falseness in Link's eyes, “Okay. How did Niall know about me beforehand, how did he know who I was?”

“My turn to ask the question,” Link settles on the chair beside Zayn's bed.

“Go ahead,” he tilts his head, nervous for a reason he doesn't understand.

“What do you see happening after you go to BUTE to major in engineering?” Link asks.

He raises his eyebrow at Link, the anxious feeling inside dying down. Confusion replacing it.

“What does it have anything to do with you?” he asks.

“Who said my questions were going to have anything to do with me?” Link retorts.

“But why–”

“I just want to know. And if you want answers out of me, you'll have to answer me too.”

He stays quiet for a moment, figures the question could have been worse, decides he has no choice but to answer anyway, “I see myself studying science and sucking at it. Barely passing and getting a degree, then become a science teacher or something.”

“So you _have_ thought about it a lot then,” Link ponders.

“I've got no other choice but to.”

“You have got a choice, you just aren't taking it Z.”

“It's your turn to answer my question,” he changes the subject instantly, “Why do you care so much about what I do with my life?”

Link purses his lips, “I just am.”

“That– that's not even– that's not a reason.”

“There simply isn't a reason,” Link shrugs, “Okay, my turn. What is the worst thing that could happen if you decide to face your father about BUTE?”

“I told you, he would disown me.”

“What if he doesn't?”

“He will, you don't know how he is about family traditions.”

“But he loves you. You must be more important to him than his family traditions.”

In his heart, he knows that is how it should be. But he is not sure if it is. And that part hurts so much that he chooses to not talk about it.

“Anyway,” he says, “How many more days till you let me go?”

“Like four or five,” Link says, his foot slightly tapping on the floor, “You should come clean to your father about BUTE when he gets home.”

“Yeah right,” he snorts.

“You're going to regret not doing it,” Link says, “I know you are.”

“I know that too.”

“I ca– why are you okay with it then?” Link asks; exasperated.

“Did my mom text back?” he asks, instead of answering.

“No,” Link replies, “You'll have to tell your father. You can't let this happen to yourself. It'll ruin your life Zayn.”

“If I am ready to let that happen, what is your problem? It's my life not yours,” he is tired of this, he doesn't want to think about this, it makes him anxious, it makes him want to run a hundred miles and not look back, “And why the fuck should I even listen to you, I don't know who you are! In five days, I hope, I'll be gone. This all will end, if you've not been lying. You'll have nothing to do with me and I with you, so leave it okay? Whatever happens to me is none of your problem Li, it's mine and I'm going to decide what I want.”

“You've already decided what you want,” Link says, surprisingly unaffected by the outburst, exceptionally calm, “You did that ages ago. When that famous singer guy came to our school, when we were in grade 7? And you were the only one in the entire group of students who raised your hand when he asked who wanted to come up on stage with him. I had never seen you participate in something so willingly before that. You went on stage, you sang with him and he told you how amazing you were, that he saw you being an artist one day. The entire day you had that fazed look on your face, and you literally didn't stop smiling for like a month. That is when you decided exactly what you wanted to be.”

Mouth ajar, he stares at Link, more nostalgic than shocked, “How– how do you know all that?”  
  
“I go to the same school as you, remember? And I am a pro at being observant,” Link says, “Also everyone at school knows it Zayn, you sang on stage with that singer–”

“Jay Sean,” he says slowly, “It was Jay Sean.”

“Yeah, him,” Link nods, “You can't tell me singing with him, with everyone cheering for you, wasn't the highlight of your life? That that's not where you want to see yourself in, say twenty years? On stage, singing your own song–”

“And everyone loving it, enjoying themselves. Appreciating my music,” he adds, shaking his head at the same time because he knows that can't happen, “Li, thinking about all this isn't going to help. It's not going to happen, I can't do it.”

“You can.”

“My father will kick me out.”

“Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. It's a 50-50.”

“You don't know, it's a 100-0.”

“Nothing is a 100-0.”

“You don't know my father.”

“Let him kick you out then,” Link says.

“Are you mad?”

“No, I am serious,” Link says, “Let him kick you out then.”

“Don't be stupid.”

“With your grades you'll get a full scholarship in any arts college you want,” Link says, “You'll have a place to live. So for four years you don't have to worry about that. Later you can get a job, and knowing you I know you will bag a good one. What's there to worry?”  
  
“My family?” he says, like he hasn't thought about all of this so many times before, “I don't want to let down my father.”

“If you are successful in what you want to do. I don't think you would be letting down your father.”

“I can’t go against him.”

“You can talk to him about this.”

“No, stop. You don’t understand,” he wants to claw his hair out.

“I’m trying to understand,” Link says, “Trust me I am, but I can’t. I can’t understand how you can let someone control your life like that?”

“He’s my father, Li.”

“I know, and I know you love him. But that doesn’t mean you have to choose what he chooses for you. You’ll not be happy doing what your dad wants you to do.”

“For the last time Li, I know that! And I’m okay with it.”

“Well, I’m not!”

“Why the fuck should I care about what you think? Who even are you?” he says loudly.

“Doesn’t matter who I am. I shouldn’t have said what I said, I’m sorry. I’ve really got no right to have a say in your life,” Link says, still so calm, “But I just don’t want you to be sad. Ever. I just don’t, and like, I don’t want you to sacrifice your future like this. For someone who doesn’t even know what they’re doing, what damage they’re causing.”

His anger dies down a bit, it always does whenever Link talks like that. In that voice, that drips with concern and sincerity, so evident, so rare. It sucks the anger, the anxiousness out of him. Replaces it with tranquility and another emotion he can’t place at the moment.

“Why do you care about me so much? Why are you doing this?” he finds himself saying, knows he’s not going to get an answer, but that’s all he can say, that’s all he wants to know, “Please. Who are you?”

“I wish I could tell you that, Z.”

“Shut up Li, if you actually wished that, you’d tell me. You won’t tell me because I might call the cops on you. You’re not an idiot and I’m not either, you would never tell me who you are, so I need you to stop fucking with my head like this. Stop saying you wish you could tell me, stop lying to me!”

“I’m not lying to you,” Link’s staring straight into his eyes, still as a statue, not a trace of pretence.

“Really?” he asks, “Then prove it. Tell me something I don’t already know, something that would tell me at least something about you. Narrow it down for me to guess who you are."

“You won’t be able to guess,” Link says, “I’m sure of that.”

“Don’t play, just admit you aren’t going to tell me.”

There’s a pause, that involves a staring competition between him and Link. Various times flash in his mind when this has happened before; they have stared at each other like this, stony, stubborn faces. Zayn can’t believe it’s become a thing. Can’t believe that a part of his brain contains memories associated with a masked guy now; intense brown eyes, real pink lips.

“I’m in your year,” Link’s monotonous voice breaks his chain of thoughts, “Not the same subjects as yours. We barely ever see each other in school. I’ve been in school with you forever. I was one of the guys in charge for that charity fair held last month. So now, if I don’t tell you who I am, you can go back and see the list of all the students involved. Then, you’ll know who I am.”

He doesn’t say anything, busy making a list in his head. Every gear in his brain turning, every nerve cell active.

“Also,” Link stands up, very suddenly, “For the last time. I haven’t been lying to you. And I really don’t care if you call the cops on me. Actually I think I deserve that. If you do end up doing that, I would willingly go with them.”

Zayn knows Link is going to leave, even before he turns away from him. He can always tell when Link is about to go, he can judge it from the finality in Link’s tone and movements. He also knows nothing he can say now would keep Link here. But when Link reaches the door, he finds himself saying, “I won’t call the cops on you.”

“Don’t say something you’re not sure about yourself,” Link says, before he’s opening the door and disappearing behind it.

Déjà vu hits Zayn, as he blinks at the shut door. He doesn’t think about it though, never does. He leans back thinking about what Link had said about himself; same year, not his section, charity fair, instead of pondering over why he had a déjà vu. Because there’s no way in hell he’s ever seen a masked man walk away from him before, without looking back.

—-

Every single day he has been in this basement, Zayn has expected s _omething_ to happen. Something, out of the blue, extraordinary. Something that’d give him the purpose behind Link’s acts. But it doesn’t happen.

All the equations and analysis in his head don’t give away anything either. Each and every piece of information he has is either incomplete or has a huge question mark printed all over it. He knows Link knows a lot about him, knows plenty. He doesn’t know how. He knows Link won’t hurt him, won’t lay a finger on him. He doesn’t know why. He knows he has seen Link somewhere, his captor being too familiar in everything he does. But he doesn’t know where. And definitely, he knows Link wants something out of this but he doesn’t know what.

Zayn also knows he has to get out of here, because what if Link doesn’t let him out like he has promised? A part of him believes Link but another one screams at him for that. It’s been two days since he had a proper talk with Link, after which everything had fallen back to normal; monotonous, routinely. And by the looks of it, it doesn’t look like Link is letting him go anytime soon.

So he has to escape. He has to try. Doesn’t really know how he is going to make a run for it yet, but he’s getting better every day. And stronger. Link doesn’t know that and he is going to make sure Link doesn’t find out either.

Right now, for example. He’s leaning into Link, his right arm going around Link’s neck, Link’s left arm holding him around his back, hand clutching the left side of his waist. As he assists him to walk; some kind of a physiotherapy thing prescribed by Link’s nurse-friend, where Zayn has to move his legs and exercise and try to walk around the room. They have been doing this since the last five days now; once in the afternoon after lunch, once at night before bed. Two days ago, Zayn had realized he could manage to walk without Link by his side. But he hadn’t let it show. (1) because there was something about the way Link’s arm felt behind his waist; like it would hold Zayn up just like that even during war, like it wouldn’t move if the ground beneath them was replaced with molten lava. Zayn liked that feeling; he didn’t want Link to stop supporting him. And (2) because if Link knew he was getting strong, Link might just take measures to restrict him more. If Zayn wanted to escape, he couldn’t have that.

He still feels Link’s fingers digging into the side of his waist, as he keeps looking at the ground, putting one foot in front of the other, as he walks slowly, in baby steps, from one side of the room to the other. Link right beside him, muttering things like, ‘Yeah, just like that.’ ‘You’ll be able to walk without me very soon.’ ‘You’re getting better, Z.’ ‘Tell me if it starts to hurt, we’ll stop.’ And Zayn keeps thinking of someone besides his mother, who has ever shown this kind of concern for him ever. Swiping away the idea from his mind the next second, because thoughts like these will only take him down further. Someplace, he isn’t willing to visit.

“Okay, we’re done,” Link says finally, when they walk towards Zayn’s bed, “You do better every day.”

Zayn wonders if it’s pride in Link’s voice, but then he’s been thinking a lot into everything the past couple of days so it might just be his imagination, “How long do you think until my injury heals completely?”

“Niall said by the end of this week,” Link says. He makes Zayn sit on the bed, and kneels down in front of him, “Then you’ll be free of this bandage too.” Link gives him a smile before he’s bending his head down, picking up the rope off the floor to tie his ankles back together.

“Yeah, can’t wait,” he utters blankly, staring at the top of Link’s head; black fabric. And then his eyes catch the handcuffs hanging on the chair behind Link, and the realization hits him. Link always cuffs his hands behind his back first before tying his legs. Then he ties his legs, uncuffs his hands and ties them back together in the front. He forgot today.

Zayn misses a breath, staring down at his hands lying free in his lap and Link’s head right in front of him, completely in reach. Link’s fingers barely touching his ankles, his heart beating hard in his chest, he can’t understand why he’s even having second thoughts about this. This is his chance, he can uncover Link’s identity, get the answers to the one million questions in his head that don’t let him rest for hours at time. But is he even ready for this? Is he ready to find out who has been keeping him hostage, what if the consequences of doing something so risky are even worse?

As fast as he can, Zayn snatches the ski mask off Link’s head.

Link jerks his head up for a second, wide eyes meeting Zayn’s before he is instantly standing up turning away from Zayn, “Fuck, Zayn fuck.”

“Liam.”

“Shit.”

It’s like everything inside his body has halted to work. Even the deepest grooves and fissures of his brain hadn’t expected Liam to be under the mask. His mouth his hanging open, all nerve endings clawing at his brain to generate some kind of response but all that comes back to him is blankness, as he stares at the expanse of Link’s– Liam’s back.

Somewhere in between Zayn’s struggle to react, Liam starts walking towards the door until he’s outside. This time Zayn doesn’t hear the lock turn, the ‘click’ of it doesn’t echo around the basement. And Zayn just sits there, feet planted on the ground, a palm digging into the sheets of his bed, the other hand clutched around the black mask. Knuckles white.

—-

The question mark in his mind has increased five times its original size, as he stares into space. Just wondering, pondering. Waiting. He hasn’t moved, not an inch. His hand still holds the mask he had been staring at since the last two weeks. And he just waits, for whatever is going to happen next.

He could run, yeah. He knows the door isn’t locked. But he doesn’t want to run. Not anymore. No, he needs answers. Why did Liam do this? Was this some kind of a hatred based plan? Did Liam hate him so much he decided to capture him? Was Liam alone in this, is something dreadful going to happen to him now, is Liam going to let something awful happen to him?

The door cracks open and he watches Liam step in. There is a glass of water clutched in his hand, a phone (Zayn’s) in the other. He isn’t looking at Zayn. He comes over. Zayn doesn’t move his eyes away from his face. Liam pulls the side table nearer, wooden legs screeching against the floor, and places the glass on it, the phone beside it. He grabs the chair and picks it up, the handcuffs falling down with loud clank, severing the tense silence. Liam walks away, until he’s directly in front of the study desk. Places the chair against it and sits down.

His elbows rest on his thighs, his posture is bent down, his fingers threading through his own as his hands hang in between his knees. Zayn doesn’t stop staring at him for a single second, numerous notions running through his mind.

“I figure you have questions,” Liam says, looking up at him.

Their eyes meet, something inside Zayn says, ‘fuck, obviously they were familiar.’

He doesn’t say anything for god knows how long, he’s finding words, deciding what he wants to ask first. Liam doesn’t push him, just keeps staring right back at him. Russet eyes friendly, anticipating.

“I can’t believe you are Link,” is what he comes up with. Realizes what he said after saying it.

Liam is silent.

“I wouldn’t have figured that out, ever,” he says.

Liam doesn’t respond again.

“I want to know since when,” he says.

“Since when, what?” Liam asks, so calm.

“Since when were you planning this?” he asks.

“I didn’t plan anything.”

“You’re lying. You sent Niall to spy on me. That’s how you knew my parents were out of town. He told you everything and you decided to bring me here and torture me,” he says loudly, tone accusing.

“Did I torture you?” Liam frowns, reproachful.

He wants to say no.

“You did keep me here against my will,” he says instead.

“The door is right there Zayn, it’s not locked. You’re free to run. Your phone is right there on the table, you are free to go call the cops on me,” Liam says, “If you think I tortured you, hurt you in any way, I am ready to pay for it Z.”

“Don’t call me that anymore,” he snaps, his mind is a right mess, his breaths are coming out so fast he can hear them.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Liam says, “I won’t.”

“I just want you to be honest with me,” he says after a moment.

“I am,” Liam says.

“Then why did you bring me here, why did you send Niall to me, why did you have to kidnap me?” he asks.

“For the last time, I didn’t send Niall to you. Niall met you and Louis by chance.”

“That’s bullshit, Liam. Niall was in on this.”

“Yes he was, but he wasn’t in on this like you’re assuming,” Liam says, “He was the first one I called after I found you injured because he is studying medicine and he’d know what to do. He was the one who stitched you up, treated you, told me how to take care of you.”

“Niall stitched me up?” he asks, “Niall is the nurse-friend.”

“Yeah,” Liam says.

“Niall– Niall said he had to complete his A-level from our school? How can he be a–”

“He completed his A-level like three years ago; he is brilliant like that,” Liam shrugs, “Jumped more classes than I can count. Kid genius. Nobody tells Niall what to do, it’s the other way around. So when you told him who you were, he lied to you.”

“Why did he do that?” he's puzzled.

“Because he knew about our– uh, history. He was there after you know, we fell apart. We grew close, he knew what I was going through,” Liam explains, “So when he met you, he decided to pretend to be your friend and find out why you did what you did. For me. That was all he was doing, really. Finding about why you feel the way you feel about me, and telling me. Even though I told him I didn’t want to hear.”

He lets that sink in, trying to find a trace of dishonesty in Liam’s eyes. He can’t find it. Or maybe he’s just sat too far away to notice.

“Why did you bring me here then?”

“I don’t know, really, why I did it, initially,” Liam is frantically shaking his head, runs a hand through his hair, as if that is going to prove a point, “I just– I had heard enough from Niall to know you were going to end up listening to your dad and going to BUTE. I knew you didn't want that, you never have. Since we were kids Zayn, you kept telling me you wouldn't go there even if your dad took your bike away from you. You said you’d go to a boarding school instead. Also he told me things you thought about me that didn’t make sense. They were infuriating actually. You putting the blame on me like that for something you did.”

“What?” he says.

Liam keeps talking over him, “So I saw you, lying in the snow, not conscious. I figured there was no way you'd struggle if you weren't physically strong enough. On top of that, you wouldn't tell me to go away if you didn't know who I was,” Liam is gazing straight at him now, not a speck of hesitancy anywhere, “Zayn I can't tell you exactly how everything happened, all I remember is finding you bleeding, all the thoughts running across my mind, the possibilities. Me calling Niall to reach my house to stitch you up, me carrying you into my car and driving you here.”

He breathes slowly, taking everything in. Half of whatever justification Liam babbled before made no sense to him, “So you kept me trapped here just to talk to me?”

“As weird as that sounds, maybe that was a huge part of why.”

“Why couldn’t you just talk to me without all of this?”

“Yeah, that's a good question you know,” Liam says, laughs dryly and looks away. He rubs his thighs before looking back at Zayn, “Maybe because you didn’t want to look at me, talk to me, be friends with me? You wanted me out of your life and you’re asking me why I didn’t come up to you at school when you have despised me so much for no reason. Real nice, Zayn, real nice.”

“How can you even blame me for something you did?” he questions, “You went away and never came back, you started treating me like you didn't even know me!”

“Right,” Liam snorts, “I can't believe you have the audacity to sit there and point fingers at me when I have been clawing my hair out trying to figure why you never wanted to see me again.”

“What are you even talking about? You were the one who ran away from my house that day, and the next day at school you didn't even fucking look at me!”

“Why would I want to even look at you when you made it so clear that you didn't want to have anything to do with me?”

“How did you even get that idea?” he yells, his voice hoarse as he glares at Liam, “Why would I ever want that, when did I ever make you feel like that?”

“You didn't but you made sure I got the message didn't you?” Liam shouts rights back, there is revolt in his voice, Zayn doesn’t know when he got to his feet, “If you hated me you could've told me to my face. I thought we were like that, like we could say things to each other without having to hide behind people! Little did I know, you were on an entirely different page. Fuck, Zayn. You didn't even say goodbye, you didn't even explain!”

“What the fuck Liam, what the fuc- get this shit off me,” he bends down struggling with the rope tied around his feet, until it's off and he finally throws it away, standing up on his feet, the faint pain in his leg is still there but he doesn't even care. He starts taking small steps towards Liam, “I don't fucking understand what the fuck you're saying–”

“Was it because I kissed you?”

Zayn freezes, “What?”

“Was it because I kissed you? That you decided to just throw me out of your life,” Liam’s gaze burn into his.

“Liam, w–”

“That was it, wasn't it? That day, when I kissed you, and you pushed me away. I must have crossed a line. That is why you told your parents you didn't want to fuck with me anymore, right?”

“Shut up! Shut up! Please, stop! I don't understand what you're saying!” he shouts as loudly as he can, he just wants Liam to stop talking crazy, stop saying shit that doesn’t make sense.

Liam does stop, mid sentence and then looks at him, with all the fury on his face replaced by  what seems like sadness, “So you don't remember?”

“What don't I remember?” Zayn takes a small step forward.

“Oh god, please don't say you don't remember,” Liam shakes his head, taking a step back, “I have been living with that one memory all these years, holding onto to it because I thought only it could bring you back. So don't say you don't remember it, Zayn.”

It's the imploring look in Liam's eyes, the way his mouth hangs open, waiting for an answer, that Zayn knows what he is talking about. The truth is, Zayn feels the same. He hasn't forgotten. Yeah, he has tried to erase it, to pretend it never happened but then he had given up. Because he had never stopped feeling the ghost of Liam's lips hovering over his, never understood why he couldn't forget the feel.

“I remember it,” he admits, a lump in his throat, “All of it.”

Liam lets out a sigh, the firm lines on his face softening a bit, as his eyes turn soft, the way Link’s did in the when he made Zayn take his medicine, “You do?”

“Yeah,” he nods, swallowing, “We were playing in my room, and it was my turn to play police. You were the thief, and I was trying to catch you.”

“Then you did, by the window and I turned around,” Liam says, taking a step forward, “And we were standing very close and your lips were right in front of my eyes.”

“Your hair were really golden, you know, because of the sun, and you kept staring at my lips and then you were leaning forward and I just couldn't move. And then you kissed me.”

“And you didn't stop me. You reciprocated.”

“It was the first time I had kissed anyone. Nobody at school wanted to kiss me.”

“I did,” Liam says, and then soft voice turns hard, “But then you pushed me away.”

“What?” he asks, breaking out of his trance.

“Someone opened the door of your room, and you pushed me away so hard. That I stumbled back and I fell,” Liam says.

He didn't remember that part, but when Liam says it, he can see it forming in his mind. He was afraid that his father had come, he knew how his father would react if he saw them kissing, so he had pushed Liam away. To save not only himself, but both of them.

“I am sorry Liam,” he says, guilty, “but I got scared, I thought it was my dad, you don't–”

“No don't apologize for that,” Liam cuts him off, his voice still stone, “I understand, I was scared too. I'm not blaming you for pushing me away. We were kids Zayn, we were both afraid. But what you did after that. That I didn't deserve.”

“What did I do?” Zayn takes a step towards him, throwing his hands up in the air in confusion, “You started to ignore my entire existence the very next day, you didn't even give me a chance to do something! So what the fuck did I do?”

“What did you expect me to do if not ignore you after you got your parents to tell my parents to tell me to stay away from you?” Liam half shouts.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, his mind racing in his head trying to fully grab the words.

“Okay, I'll lay it out for you then, help you understand since you seem to have a memory issue. Your parents called my parents over to your house the next day and told them you didn't want to see me again,” Liam says, “To tell me that I should forget about you and you didn't want to ever talk to me again. So that's what I did, I gave you what you wanted. Don’t blame me for doing what you wanted me to.”

Zayn remains silent. Because he is trying to figure. Because that's definitely not what happened, why would his mum and dad do that. That is insane.

“Say something,” Liam says, “Tell me why you did it. I've been waiting for ages to know. Just tell me so I can stop thinking about you. This. About this.”

“I didn't do it,” he retreats in his footsteps, until the back of his legs hit the bed and he's sitting down again. There is a weight gradually building up on his shoulders, “I didn't.”

“What?” Liam asks.

His throat is dry when he says again, “I didn't do that, I didn't tell my parents anything. I didn’t say all of that.”

Liam doesn’t say anything for a long moment, probably as confused as he is. Or maybe more than he is. Because he is starting to place all the pieces together, and he doesn't want to see the picture those pieces combine to make.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” he lowers his head, hoping that whatever he is thinking isn't correct.

“Zayn, are you okay?” Liam's voice is smaller now, and he is walking towards Zayn. He looks up at Liam, his fingers numb and face pallid.

“I didn't tell my parents to say all that to you,” he stares into Liam's anxious eyes, “I didn't even know.”

Liam's features change from confusion to bewilderment in a second, as he blinks down at Zayn, “You didn't–”

“I didn't, I would never. Why would I? How could you even think?”

“But your parents–”

“My dad must have seen you kiss me or something. He must have seen something. It must have been his idea. That's why, that's why they did it,” he says, “If what you're saying is right, then only that could have had happened.”

“What I am saying is right,” Liam scowls, “Why would I make all that up and lie to you?”

“To make up an excuse for treating me like shit these past few years,” he spits out at him, he doesn't know where the bitterness is coming for. He just doesn't want to believe in what Liam is saying. Who knows, Liam could be lying? This all could be some personal vendetta Liam has against him. Or maybe he just isn’t ready to hate his dad just yet.

“Do you fucking– is that what you think of me? That I'd turn you against your parents to be in your life again?” Liam seethes down at him, “I’m not that desperate!”

“Even if my parents were lying you still could have asked me Liam, you didn't have to ignore me like that and make me feel like I didn't even exist for you!”

“Fuck, I thought you hated me Zayn! I thought I had crossed a line, that I had grossed you out when I kissed you. I thought you were so cross you didn't even want to see me again, that you literally had my parents called over to your fucking house! I thought you'd turn me away if I went up to talk to you at school, and I couldn't let that happen, that would have hurt me more than I already was!”

“You had no faith in me Liam, that's what it is,” he says, “If you did, you’d have at least tried.”

“Oh and you did?” Liam snaps back, “You could have come over and asked me why I was acting like a dick! Oh but no wait, you were too busy crawling up Louis' ass.”

“Louis was there for me when you weren't!”

“Not because I didn't want to, because your parents told me you didn't want me to!”

“To the hell with my parents Liam, you were the one who thought I'd push you away like that!” he actually doesn't really know why he's on his feet again or why he's shouting again, all he knows is he wants to punch something and let the rage out that before he finds out who it is directed at, “You were my best friend, my only friend! Pushing you away would have been painful for me, and you knew that! You didn't even check up on me when I was missing school, fuck you got your section changed so we didn't have classes together when you could have just talked to me! You called me a coward, right? But have you ever looked in the mirror? Because the real coward here is you Liam, you completely gave up on me, not even giving me a chance to speak.”

“Your parents told me not to talk to you, that's why I didn't,” Liam narrows his eyes, “But nobody told you anything. So why didn't you come up and talk to me? What reason did you have? Besides your inflated ego.”

Honestly, Zayn doesn't have an answer to that except the simple fact that he thought Liam hated him, which Liam doesn't seem to find enough of a reason, and maybe it isn't. Why hadn't he gone to Liam to confront him, he really doesn't know. Maybe he should have, maybe if he had they wouldn't be here right now, shouting at each other like mad men. But the thing is, that he isn't ready to admit that it is part his fault. All he really feels at the moment is fury. He wants to smoke a few cigarettes or run a hundred miles to get rid of it.

“Okay yeah, I am egoistic, but it wasn't me who was flaunting around the school, throwing his council privileges at everyone's faces,” he knows he is being hypocritical because if anyone had taken advantage of being in the school council it was him, but he doesn't let that stop him, “Oh and that day when they named me head boy, you had a right fit didn't you? I heard someone say you punched a locker in the gym and almost broke a bench? You can blame all of your actions on my parents Liam, but really you were just jealous of me. You probably couldn't believe they gave the badge to me, somebody you already hated! And then you must have regretted throwing me away because I went steps ahead of you, without you.”

“Are you serious?” Liam throws a ridiculous frown his way.

“And that is why you brought me here, you sabotaged my dance night and you brought me here,” he says, “To hurt me and get some kind of revenge. And now that I've found who you are, you are trying to blame it all on my parents and get away with it so I don't call the cops on you.”

“You're so fucking stupid,” Liam shakes his head, sighing sadly.

“Yeah, maybe I am, but still I'm the head boy and you are not. Do whatever the fuck you want about that,” his head hurts, he knows that's not what he wants to say but he also can't think of anything else that Liam could have against him.

“Wow, you're a fucking four year old if you think I've got some agenda against you just because you are head boy and I'm not,” Liam says, “But if you want to settle this, then okay. Yeah, I did want to be head boy. Very much. Since a very long time. That is why I worked my ass off to get good grades and I had assured my mum I was going to be the one who got that badge. So yes, my expectations were really high and then they gave the badge to you, and I know you. I knew you didn't give a shit about it.”

He wants to say that's not true, but he bites his tongue. He just doesn't want to lie right now.

“But I didn't hold a grudge against you for long, I realized that it didn't even matter. Twen- fuck even five years from now, no ones going to ask me if I was head boy, no ones even going to give a single fuck. Not even me,” Liam says, “So I let it go. I didn't even want to think about you, let alone hold a grudge. And Zayn, I can't say you didn't deserve the badge, because you did. You do. But you didn't want it and I did. And yet, you got it and I didn't. So that is why I got angry and hurt. Not because they gave it to you, I’m not that petty.”

Clenching, unclenching his fists as an attempt to release the outrage buzzing in his body, Zayn doesn’t say a word. He feels like he’s suffocating, as bubbles of all the assumptions he had made regarding Liam burst one by one around him.

“If I ever felt jealous, it was of Louis,” Liam moves closer to him, “Because he got to be with you and I didn’t. I saw him replace me in your life which made me hate him. It was awful to hear you didn’t want to see me, but it was worse to see myself getting replaced. But I couldn’t bring myself to hate you, so I hated Louis instead. And gave him all those detention slips for no reason. So yeah, I might have even taken advantage of my council privileges but never against you.”

His heart is heavy. He just doesn’t know of what. Is it guilt, or the anger, or the truth weighing down on it? If the truth is even the truth. And Liam’s eyes, they keep telling him it is. Dark brown pools of remorse and sincerity. Beseeching, trying to convince. Liam stands so near now, if he extends an arm out he’d touch Liam. Hug Liam and apologize for making him feeling like that. But maybe that is what Liam wants. For him to believe in him, for him to let his guard fall down again.

“I need to leave,” he breathes out.

Liam’s eyes widen, the surprise on his face conveys how he wasn’t expecting this response.

“You don’t believe me? You still think I intended to hurt you?” he asks lowly, voice dripping with disbelief.

“I don’t know what I believe,” he says, turning away, he can’t look straight into Liam’s eyes and walk away from him, “I just need to leave.”

He makes his way to the side table, grabs his phone when he catches sight of it.

“Are you going to go to the police?” Liam asks, voice still a whisper, somehow loud in the forlorn basement.

Zayn doesn’t answer, he doesn’t find himself capable of replying. He turns back around, Liam has moved closer to him. There are alarms blasting off in his head, a chain of ‘run run run’ going around. He watches Liam take another step forward, reach a hand out and he needs to get away before Liam touches him. He doesn’t know what if he’s going to do if that happens, but he has a strong hunch he’ll probably dissolve into it. So he runs.

He runs. He doesn't even know where he's going, he just runs, finding his way as he goes. Upstairs, across the hall and then somehow he's at the front door. Kicking it open, he plunges out into the cold air, snow coming up to his ankles as he rushes out into the night.

Everything is a rapid, dark blue blur around him as he charges towards home. He doesn't know what day is it or time, he just has his phone clutched in his hand and he's running, his mind running a bit faster.

Everything Liam has told him hammers in his head, he's still trying to believe what his father had done. All these years he had lived with a turmoil in his heart; questions of what he did wrong with Liam and turns out, it was all because of the one man he had tried so hard not to disappoint.

Somewhere, in the middle of nowhere, he halts. His knees give away, and he lowers himself, crouching over the snow covered ground. He is panting heavily, trying to catch his breath, teeth jittering because it's cold as hell. He sits there, snow hugging his legs and knees, and looks up at the sky before screaming at the top of his lungs. Screams so loud, his throat aches. It's like his blood is on heat, pools of anger burning in his chest. He throws punch after punch into the snow, he's conflicted, he feels betrayed. He doesn't feel like cross checking what Liam has told him, because he knows Liam wasn't lying. But he has to make sure, because what if Liam was lying? Which a part of him hopes is true, because then he can just move on with his life like he was doing before. Then nothing has to change, he can forget this ordeal, he can forget Liam and just carry on.

He quickly unlocks his phone, dialing his mum. He knows his father won’t tell him anything, and he also doesn’t want to him at the moment. He fears he might burst. His fingers tremble with the cold as he clutches the phone to his ear and waits for the rings to stop.

"Hello sunshine, how are you?" his mom’s sweet voice floats out when she picks up, "I was just going to call you, I miss you my baby."

He swallows thickly, realizing how badly he wants his mom to envelop him in one of her hugs, "I miss you too mum, I wanted to ask you something."

"What is it?"

"Why did Liam stop being my friend?"

"What?"

“Remember Liam, why did he stop talking to me?”

“I don't know Zayn,” she says, the tone of her voice strange, “I think only Liam can tell you that.”

“Actually he did tell me, I just don't want to believe him because what he told me is possibly worse than I could ever think.”

“What- what did he tell you?”

“You know exactly what, mum,” he says, “About what Baba did. How Babe lied to his parents. Liam's telling the truth isn't he?”

“Zayn–”

“Please don't lie to me again.”

His mum is silent for a moment, he hears her take a loud breath, “It's true. We lied to you, your father didn't want you interacting with Liam, and I had no choice but to do what he wanted.”

“Oh my god,” he says, he didn't think he could feel any worse, but alas, isn't it a day of surprises.

“Zayn, honey, listen to me–”

“How could Baba make that decision for me, who was he to know whether Liam was good for me or not? What had Liam ever done?”

“I don't know but he said he knew something, he said Liam was a bad influence on you, something about him being your downfall in the future.”

“You know that’s funny because Baba was going to be my downfall if Liam hadn't found me that night and knocked some sense into me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Forget it, mum. And you know what? I can imagine Baba thinking like that about Liam, I am sure he thinks that about Louis too. But you, mum? How could you not tell me? You knew what Liam meant to me, he was my only friend.”

“Zaynie, I wanted to tell you but your father had made me promise I wouldn't. I was torn between being a good wife and a good mother. So I prayed that you found out some other way, that you talked to Liam without me coming in between. And trust me, I am glad now that you did talk to him. I didn’t ever want you to be miserable.”

“Yeah, but you did have a hand in doing so. Actually, I really don't care about anything right now. I've got to go.”

“Zayn, I am really sorry love.”

“It's okay mum, we'll talk when you come back. Have a good vacation. And don’t tell Baba I know, I’ll talk to him when he’s here as well.”

He hangs up before his mother can say anything. It’s super chilly around him and yet the anger and fanaticism gathering in his chest doesn’t let him focus on how much he’s shivering. His heart has sunk down to the lowest level, nothing he wasn’t expecting to happen but maybe he had hoped for Liam’s story to be a lie. Outright hilarious how the person whom he thought had betrayed his loyalty was the one looking out for him. Stupid Liam, still looking out for him. Still keeping his promises from four years ago.

The next moment, he's punching presses another number, and just like he had expected, Louis answers on the first ring.

“Don't you dare fucking talk to me Zain Javadd Malik, I swear I am going to punch you through the damn phone.”

“Louis.”  
  
“No shut the bloody hell up, how dare you, how fucking dare you run off with your family last minute and not even inform me before leaving, do I mean anything to you? Do I have any importance–”

“Louis listen to me,” he says, sharply.

“No no no, you listen to me–”

“This is very important Louis, it’s an emergency and I need your help,” he almost pleads.

“What– are you okay?” the change in Louis' tone is evident, “Is everything alright?”  
  
“Yeah, listen. I know you're mad at me and I'm going to explain everything to you later,” he says hurriedly, “But right now, I am thinking about doing something absolutely foolish, and I wanted to ask you if I should go ahead with it.”

“What is it?”

“I can't tell you that.”

“Okay. Life endangering foolish? Or normal foolish?”

“Remember in fifth grade, when we were taken to the Mr. Pivot's office for setting the fire alarm off and tried to steal the Science papers right from under his nose?”

“Yeah,” Louis says.

“That foolish.”

“Oh,” Louis says, “But we did steal the Science papers, so it turned out alright in the end. Will this turn out alright in the end as well?”

“I don't know, but I’m willing to find out.”

“How badly are you willing?”

“So bad, that if you’ll tell me not to do it, I’ll still do it.”

Louis laughs, “Then go for it! I hope you steal the Science papers.”

He hangs up, and then gets on his feet. Zayn turns around, still panting, and starts to run again. He runs, feeling the same ache in his leg, but it's distant now. He's so overcome with the emotions shattering his brain, that he can't even sense it properly.

The ice cold wind hits his face, he's wearing nothing except one of Liam's huge shirts and woolen trousers, joggers in his feet that he had put on last minute. He probably should have grabbed more clothes before running out, something thick, but that doesn't matter now. He knows what will warm him up, and he's not going to waste time in getting it.

And finally, stumbling in the snow, trying to be as fast as he can, the destination he has in mind comes in view. He makes his way to the front door, he can feel sweat dripping down his back, down his legs, but he still feels so cold. His hair are definitely wet, but if that's from the snow or sweat, he doesn't know.

Turning the knob, he tries to push open the door, but it doesn't budge. So he bangs on it with a closed fist, and he waits. A minute passes and everything inside him is frozen. Then his heart beat picks up speed again when he hears the indistinct sound of footsteps coming from the other side, and then the door flies open to reveal a disheveled Niall.

“Zayn listen–” Niall begins but then his eyes fall over Zayn's shoulder instead, scanning the background, “Where are the cops?”

He doesn't even bother answering, because Niall isn't the person who he wants to see right now. He just shoves Niall aside, the question hanging in the air, and barges inside the house. It's the hallway he enters, he hadn't even realized there was a hallway when he was running out.

“Where's Liam?” he croaks out, his voice barely coming out of his throat.

“Why, are you going to turn him in?” Niall asks, looking lost.

He turns on Niall, and he's furious because every body part seems to hurt, and he's still very very cold.

“Just tell me. Where. Liam is?” he asks gruffly in between breaths, Niall takes a step back, gulping.

“He's in the basement, where you left him,” someone says from behind, and Zayn turns around in a flash to face them.

The moment his eyes fall on Harry, another face flashes before his eyes and he can't believe he didn't ask Louis, he didn't even think about Harry until now. Before he goes down into that basement again, he has to make sure.

“Was Louis just a part of getting me here, too?”

Harry knits his eyebrows, “What?”

“Tell me honestly,” Zayn takes steps forward, fisting his hands, making sure he sounds as firm as he's trying to, “What you're doing with Louis, is it all an act? Are you just pretending to fancy him because you wanted to get to me?”

Harry's jaw falls open, and he visibly looks horrified, “I would never do that to Louis. I have liked him since way before all of this. Like do you seriously think I didn't notice him staring at me, showing up for all my practices? Do you seriously think I'm that dumb?”

‘Yeah’ Zayn wants to say, but he bites the inside of his cheeks instead, his fists still clenched by his sides.

Harry sighs, “Look, I promise. I didn't ask him to get to you, we didn't even know this was all going to happen! I would have asked Louis out ages ago but I had thought Liam would mind. But then Liam gave me the heads up so I did ask him out. I really do like Louis, I am not going to hurt him!”

That sounds pretty convincing, but Zayn's body cells are still buzzing, he's on an adrenaline rush, so he warns him anyway, “Okay but if I find out you're lying, if you break Louis' heart, I swear I'm going to bring hell right at your front door. Now get out my fucking way!”

He pushes Harry out of the way, rushing past him, leaving both Niall and Harry behind with their questioning looks, as he makes a dash down the stairs that he had climbed up just some long moments ago. Pushing open the door, he barges inside and then shuts it close behind him.

The first thing he sees is Liam sitting on the edge of the old, rusty bed, his elbows propped on his thighs, head in his hands, an expressive picture of remorse. He lets himself lean back, support himself against the door because his legs feel so weak, a faint but constant ache all over his body.

Then he breathes out, in his dry, rough voice, “Liam...”

Liam jerks his head, eyes going wide in surprise when he sees Zayn, “Zayn- I thought, I thought you were Harry.”

Zayn doesn't say anything, he's tying to pick up all the energy he's got left for he knows he's going to need it to say all that he wants to say.

“Why are you here? Are you handing me over?” Liam asks, he looks vulnerable, “Because I'm perfectly fine with it, I know what I did was wrong and illegal, so I'm ready if–”

“You were right Liam,” he stops Liam short.

“What?”  
  
“You were right,” he says, he is glad there is a door behind him because looking into Liam's concerned eyes, he feels like he's going to fall, “About everything, you were right.”

“Zayn, I would never lie to you. I would never put a false blame on your parents.”

“No, not that, all the other things you said. You were right about them, too.”

“What’re you saying?”

“I have ran away from things all my life, I have been afraid. I have hidden who I am since before I even knew who I was! I am a coward, you are right,” he says, “And I did push you away, when that door opened, I did shove you. Pushed you so hard, that fate just decided to take you out of my life. And I'm sorry Liam, but I was just a kid, I couldn't think and I was scared. I'm sorry, for what my father did.”

He pauses for a moment, collecting his breath and mustering up the courage to start walking. He takes small, uneven steps towards Liam, who is still rooted to his spot, arms resting on thighs, his hands hanging between the V of his legs.

“But now, now I'm done,” Zayn says, “I am not a kid anymore, I don't have to, fuck I don't want to hide anymore and I am not afraid.”

Liam's still looking at him confused, eyes not moving an inch away from him

“To be who I am,” he reaches Liam, “And so, I am going to tell my dad I'm gay, and I am going to tell him I don't want to go to BUTE and also, I am pulling you back in.”

He reaches down, fists his hands in the front of Liam's black shirt, right below the neck, and pulls him up with all the little power he's got left, pressing his lips against Liam the moment Liam is standing on his feet. He feels Liam go from rigid to pliant against him, two large hands, so familiar, firmly come to hold his waist, and that's when he completely lets himself go, letting Liam keep him from falling down. His hands don't let go off Liam's shirt, as he opens his mouth underneath Liam's, letting Liam's tongue taste him, letting Liam take over, because there is zero energy left in him, and all he wants to do right now, is bask in Liam's warmth, let Liam hold him.

Liam's arm comes around his waist, holding him in place as his other hand finds Zayn's face, cupping his cheek and kissing him wholly, thoroughly. Liam licks every inch of his mouth, until he's falling back on the bed taking Zayn down with him. It takes a couple of seconds for them to lie down properly, next to each other on the single bed, heads nestled on one pillow together, Liam's arms pressing Zayn so close to himself.

Liam caresses Zayn's cheek with the back of his hand, “You don't know how many times I've thought about this. You running back to me, saying you didn't hate me.”

“I haven't ever hated you Li,” Zayn says, earnest eyes staring into Liam's, his hands around each other, sandwiched between their chests, “All these years, when I should have hated you, I didn't. I even tried to, but I couldn't.”

“Then why didn't you stop Louis when he was being mean to me? Why were you mean to me?” Liam traces his eyebrow with his finger.

“Because I thought you hated me, that you wouldn't want my help if I jumped in between you and Louis. And whenever you talked to me, you weren't very nice to me either, so I believed that you actually did loathe my existence.”

“I am sorry,” Liam kisses his nose once, “If I made you feel like that,” twice.

“And I’m if I made you feel like I didn't want to be your friend, or that I forgot all about what happened. I didn't, I remember everything I ever did with you Liam, and those memories they never went away,” he says, “That tree house we built, the comics we stole, all the bruises we hid from our parents after trying to skateboard on the rinks.”

“The lies we told for each other, the day you punched that bully ten times your size because he pushed me into a ditch. And then he pushed you into the ditch too,” Liam beams down at him, “We stayed there scared right out of our minds until your grandfather found us.”

“And that time when I got hair lice and my father shaved my head,” he says, absentminded fingers tracing patterns across the length of Liam's neck, “I loved my hair so I cried into the evening, and then you came over. And you had shaved your head too, so that I'd stop crying.”

“I still can't see you cry,” Liam rubs a thumb on his bottom lip, kissing the tip of his nose again, “You haven't forgotten a thing.”

“I couldn't,” he says.

“I'm glad you couldn't,” Liam says, “Because you were the first real thing that I ever found in this world. Nothing mattered to me back then, just you. I didn't care about anything but you, which was weird. But it was real, it felt real. And I spent four years without you, thinking I was wrong about you. So I really can't explain how fucking glad I am that you remember.”

“Obviously I did, it's not every day your best friend shaves his head for you,” Zayn says.

“That was nothing compared to the things I’d do for you, babe,” Liam says, kissing his nose again.

The honesty in Liam’s eyes makes his heart swell, “God, Liam. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me and I didn’t even talk to you when I should have. I wasted four years.”

“It’s okay,” Liam says, “You’re here now.”

“Yeah, I’m here now,” he presses himself more into Liam, so there isn’t a chance of anyone separating them.

“I love you,” Liam says suddenly, voice low but firm, earnest.

“I know,” is out of his mouth before he can even think.

“How? I've never said it before.”

“You don't have to say it, to say it.”

Liam frowns.

He giggles, pressing a kiss to Liam's neck before saying, “It's in the way you are looking at me, in the way you took care of me. In the way you kiss me, in the way you can't see me cry. And in the way you are holding me. Like– like.”

He wonders if he should say what he wants, wonders if saying it would be too much, would convey too much. If this is even the right time to say exactly how he feels?

“Like?” Liam asks, eyes anticipating. Eyes hooded with emotion, concealing nothing.

“Like. You’re not going to let anybody hurt me,” he finds the words, voice thick, “Like I could stay here forever and just be okay. Like this is enough.”

Liam blinks, chest rising and falling under Zayn’s palm.

“Okay,” he says, resting his nose softly against Zayn’s, “Turns out, I am going to hold you forever, then.”

“And I am going to let you,” he says, staring sincerely into brown eyes that seem to be making the kinds of promises Zayn hasn't ever known.

“Good,” Liam whispers, pressing his lips to Zayn's lightly, “You want to go home?”

“Not yet,” he shakes his head. He feels a burn behind his eyes because home reminds him of his father who reminds him of the lies, the betrayal. So he hides his face in Liam's neck, “I want to stay right here for a bit more, where it’s warm and safe and nobody can hurt me.”

He feels Liam tighten his hold around him, “You are safe.”

“Maybe not, I am going to tell my dad about BUTE,” he says, eyes shut against Liam's skin, “And everything is going to fall apart.”

“I'll protect you,” Liam says into his hair, “And I'll help you as much as I can, I promise. I'll be there for you Z.”

He nods, he believes Liam, “I know you will. Just hold me tonight yeah, I'm tired, I feel– weak.”

“You want to go up to my room and get more comfortable,” Liam runs fingers through his hair, “There are blankets and quilts and everything. You can rest as much as you want, for as long as you want.”

Zayn looks at him, “You have a room upstairs?”

“Yeah, just like I did four years ago.”

“I thought this was your room,” he says, “But then I didn’t know you were Liam, so yeah, okay, I’m sorry.”

Liam chuckles, “No, this is a room too. But like a part time room, Harry and I usually hang out here, that's all. I didn’t want to keep you here but I had to, because you’d have recognized my room.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so,” Liam says, “You want to go up?”

“Yes, I do,” he nods, smiling, “But I don't want to move.”

“You don’t have to.”

When Liam picks him up and carries him up to his room, Zayn just lets him; Liam’s strong arms underneath him, his face hidden in Liam’s neck, and nose pressed tenderly against a heart-shaped birthmark.

-—-

**8½ months later**

He’s snuggled up in a pile of blankets, huddled up in the corner of the bottom bunk, a plastic cup of cheap coffee by the side table, his nose buried deep in one of the comic books Louis sent him for Christmas.

The dorm isn’t really massive, like it would probably have been at BUTE, but then he had never wanted a very spacious one. It’s large enough for two people though, enough room for everything. The ceiling and walls are fawn with dark wooden floorboards. The door matches the colour of the floor. The moment you enter there is a closet on the left side, two columned compartments, with an Iron Man poster on its door.  There is a small rug and a bean bag lying in the middle; one of the things his roommate had brought with him.

It’s a rectangular room, a double wooden bunk bed placed exactly at the right corner, pushed against the wall. At the foot of the bed, there is a coat stand on which everything except coats hangs; belts, hats, Zayn’s shoulder bag, a pair of trousers and a skipping rope. At the left side of the bed, stands a rectangular side table, a bit larger than normal, with a little red table lamp that Zayn switches on when he has to finish a book or work late into the night. Other things on the side table include a blue digital clock, photo frames; a picture of Zayn’s family, and another smaller one beside it; Louis’ bright face smiling at him, holding his thumbs up (a gift he had gotten from louis when he was leaving home for university).  There is a pile of comics beside it, and a black coffee mug on top of them with the words ‘ _best boyfriend in the world_ ’ scribbled on it in white pen. Zayn keeps everything important in that mug, from his dorm keys to his student ID to his best paint brushes. 

A few inches above and a few inches to the left of the side table is the one and only window of the room; it’s quite vast, square shaped with a thick frame, and the bunny rabbit curtains hanging over it are almost always parted except on Sunday mornings when Zayn wants to block all the lights out and stay in bed for most of the day. Against the left wall, there are two desks coupled with chairs, placed at distance from each other, a small, old heater between them that always fails to keep the room warm. Both the desks and chairs are wooden, but are painted a dull grey, the colour scraping off certain places. They have drawers, two on each. One of the desks is messed up; a laptop lying open on it; blank screen, books lying in three different piles, a plastic glass full of colored pens and brushes, and a picture of Liam hanging on the wall over it. The other desk looks like it hasn’t been touched in a while, it’s neat. Three or four books lying in one neat pile, pens placed over them. Sticky notes are on the wall, dates messily scribbled on them. A bag, that hasn’t been touched since a week, lies on the chair which has been carefully pushed against the table.

He has got literally nothing to do these days, because everyone is away for Christmas break and he’s just one of the very few students who had remained behind. The thing is, he had nowhere to go for Christmas. Yaser had not taken the idea of him going to a Liberal Arts college instead of BUTE very well, but surprisingly hadn’t pushed him out of the house, instead he had told him he could pay for his college himself and shouldn’t expect to get a single penny out of him. Zayn didn’t need it; he got a 100% scholarship with his commendable transcripts and the recommendation letter his English teacher had written. He already had enough money saved to get the school supplies he needed. He didn’t even have to spend all of it either, more than half still lies in a box hidden under his clothes in the closet, along with a £100 check Doniya had sent him on Eid. His father had given him the silent treatment for a long time when he was at home, barely ever looked at him anymore, and so he thought it better to just stay away from home as much as he could. He would go visit his mum whenever he went to visit Louis; who had gotten into a good community college somewhere in Bradford, because he didn’t want a lot of distance between him and his family. Other times, Louis would keep updating him about how his mum is, how his sisters are, if Waliyha has a boyfriend yet or not.

Louis is really happy with his life. He had come to visit Zayn a few days back, bringing in home-cooked food for him in Tupperware boxes, and a box of Christmas gifts. Now, Zayn doesn’t celebrate Christmas, but since he has known Louis he kind of always has without really meaning to. It’s just that Louis always brought him gifts and invited him over, so he had to buy gifts for Louis and his sisters as well. Similarly, Louis had asked him to accompany him back home, stay at his place for a few days. But Zayn had denied, he just didn’t feel like it this time. If he wanted, he could have stayed at Liam’s place as well but Zayn is just trying to change the meaning of _home_ at the moment; to replace it from a place to a feeling. Trying to give the word a new definition. And sometimes, when he looks in Liam’s merry eyes, he thinks he might be very close to what he’s searching for.

Also, he doesn’t want to go back to a place where he knows he’ll end up seeing his father. Who’ll not look at him, most probably and honestly, Zayn doesn’t think he wants to go through that. And the best part is, Liam understands. Which is why he never pressures Zayn into coming home whenever they have days off, always letting Zayn stay back. That’s why he has been alone since a few days now, not really wanting to get out of bed either because soon the holidays will be over and he’s going to have to start studying again. So he normally only goes out when he needs a bath, or when he needs food or drinks. Other times, he sits by the window on a chair, sketching the cloudy sky outside, or the snow covered trees he can see in the distance. Sometimes he calls Liam on Skype and they talk for hours at end; those are the best moments of his days. And sometimes he just keeps sleeping all throughout the day.

He flips a page of his comic book, sinking more into the bed, rubbing his sock clad feet together. He isn’t wearing trousers under the blankets, only the boxers he slept in last night. His hair fall down on his eyes, he hadn’t even bothered brushing them today. And he’s wearing a black fleece hoodie, a large white ADIDAS logo plastered on its front, and it’s a size bigger for him since it is originally Liam’s, but it snuggles so warm around him that he doesn’t want to ever get out of it. The best part about this hoodie is, it always smells of Liam. No matter how much it is washed, no matter how much deodorant you put on it, there is this scent that hangs to it which he knows belongs to Liam.

Time from time, his glances at the clock on the side table, the cells in his body increasing in activity as the time slowly goes by. The room is lit enough because of the little sunlight falling in through the window, creating a serene atmosphere inside. It’s ten in the morning and Zayn never wakes up so early, but today he has reasons.

Almost finished with the comic, his coffee cup now empty, he hears something outside his door. He doesn’t know where he throws his comic book when he jumps out of the bed, tiptoeing towards the door. He hears the key turns, the anticipation in his heart at its peak, and then the door is pushed open.

He jumps on Liam the moment Liam kicks the door shut behind him. Arms going around Liam’s neck, legs wrapping around his waist. He hears something fall from Liam’s hands, but he doesn’t care as he snuggles his face in Liam’s neck and feels Liam’s arms go around his waist, holding him up.

“I missed you, I missed you, I missed you,” he says, over and over again, dropping a few kisses on the skin visible above the scarf around Liam’s neck, “So much, I missed you, every minute, I missed you so much. I missed you.”

Liam keeps rubbing his hands up and down his back, as he walks into the room, Zayn clinging to him, grinning into Zayn’s hair, “I missed you too, Z.”

“Not more than me,” he replies instantly, as Liam makes his way to the bed, bends and places Zayn there, on the pile of blankets Zayn had left behind. He tries to pull away from him, but Zayn’s legs don’t unwrap from around his waist, neither do his arms from around his neck.

“If you think I am going to detach myself from you anytime soon,” he says, “You must have lost your mind.”

Liam chuckles in his hair, “At least let me take my coat off, babe.”

Zayn considers for a moment, then unwraps himself from around Liam. The lesser the clothes, the closer he’ll be able to be to Liam, he figures. He watches Liam, sliding the lump of blankets from underneath himself and dumping them on the floor, as Liam takes off his coat and throws it over a chair, getting out of his boots then, sliding them under the bed. Liam takes the scarf and sweatshirt off too, letting them fall on the pile of blankets. He’s wearing a black vest underneath, shoulders and biceps bare, coupled with blue jeans. Then he climbs in bed with Zayn, who opens his arms, beckoning Liam to let him wrap them around his neck again, and Liam lets him, holding him firmly around the waist again, as he positions himself to lie next to him, Zayn’s back pressed to the wall, his face towards Liam’s.

“Better, huh?” Liam asks.

“Much better,” he grins, as he sneaks in a leg between both of Liam’s.

He just watches Liam for a minute or two lets Liam study him right back. He is so grateful that Liam came back from holidays early, like he had told Liam a thousand times that he didn’t have to, but he is glad that Liam is here now, because, and it may sound too farfetched, and he’s never going to say it out loud, he suddenly feels whole again.

“Thank you for coming back early, you didn’t have to,” he tells Liam.

“Oh, but I had to,” Liam teases, “Look at you, all dressed up in my clothes, clinging to me like you were going through some serious withdrawal symptoms in my absence.”

“Shut up,” he pouts, “I can’t help it if my heart wants you all the time.”

He closes his eyes when Liam leans in to kiss him, warm lips pressing firmly against his coffee stained ones. He breathes in Liam’s breath, and Liam’s heavy scent, his heart filling up with a kind of satisfaction that he hasn’t felt in days.

“God, I missed doing that,” Liam says when he pulls back, “Missed all of you so much.”

Zayn just giggles at him, caressing his stubbly cheek lightly.

“You like to make me suffer, don’t you?” Liam asks, “So stubborn all the time, not coming along with me.”

“Well, you know why I can’t come,” Zayn says.

“You would come if you knew how hard it was to stay away from you.” Liam says, “Next time, I think I am just going to tie you up, throw you in a suitcase and take you along with me.”

Zayn snorts, “Let’s not talk about you tying me up bec–”

“Yeah, I am sorry, shouldn’t have gone there,” Liam cuts him shot, a shadow flickering across his face that doesn’t go by unnoticed.

“And why not?” Zayn asks, raising an eyebrow curiously.

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You know because,” Liam tries to find words, gulps, “What- you know because of that- because of what I did.”

And Zayn doesn’t need an elaboration, he knows Liam inside and out, he knows exactly what Liam is talking about because in the past eight months, whenever this topic has been brought up, Liam has looked exactly like he looks right now; a picture of culpability merging into one of repentance.

“I wasn’t even talking about that,” Zayn says, watching Liam frown, “So, you can stop looking like you murdered someone, okay?”

“Then, what did you mean?” Liam inquires.

“I meant,” Zayn says, “That tying up things, isn’t really your forte. You’re not very good at it.”

“Excuse me?” Liam narrows his eyes.

“Yeah,” Zayn says.

“What exactly is it that I haven’t tied up well?”

“Well, when you pulled off that stunt and kidnapped me–”

“You said you weren’t talking about that!”

“Well, I said that to wipe that- uneasy look of your face,” Zayn says.

“We aren’t talking about it!”

“Oh no we are,” Zayn says, “Because you need to stop acting like you did something wrong–”

“I _did_ do something wrong,” Liam says.

“Okay lol,” Zayn says, “I hate to break this to you Liam, but while you had kidnapped me, you let me order you around, you let me send voice messages to my mom and you literally untied me and let me loose so many times. That doesn’t even come close to the concept of kidnapping.”

“You always try to make it sound like I didn’t commit a crime–”

“Oh god, Liam,” Zayn grabs Liam’s face with his hands, “If you had actually committed a crime, you wouldn’t lying here next to me. I would’ve told on you, you would’ve been in prison. So, you didn’t commit a fucking crime, for god’s sake.”

“Still doesn’t make what I did okay.”

“You’ll just have to get over it, babe. You’ll have to let it go. If I don’t mind then you shouldn’t either.”

“Have you really forgiven me, though?” Liam pulls him closer as he speaks.

“I ran back to you that day, didn’t I?” he says, thumb rubbing circles into Liam’s cheek.

“Yeah, yeah, you did.”

“If it weren’t for you babe, I would’ve been rotting away in an engineering university, regretting my life decisions,” he says, “I know I was going to go through with it, Louis wouldn’t have been able to talk me out of it. You saved me Liam; you saved me when nobody had the courage to do that. Not even my own self.”

“You have never said that to me before,” Liam says, pecking his nose again, “I don’t know how to respond to that, I–”

“You don’t have to respond to that, just know that what happened is in the past yeah? And I don’t think about it anymore, so you shouldn’t either,” he says, running hands all over whichever part of Liam’s skin he can reach, “Also, like it wasn’t even that big of a deal you know? Like you had tied me up so loosely, I could have easily freed myself if I wanted to but I didn’t want to hurt your feelings so I didn’t. So you can say, I was there willingly, letting you think that you were some badass criminal person.”

He can see that Liam biting the inside of his mouth, trying very hard not to smile, congratulates himself for having done that.

“Really, now?” Liam grins a little.

“Ahan, really.”

“You’re saying I didn’t tie you up properly?”

“Yeah, my feet could’ve gotten out of that rope way too easily. Like babe, you really need to learn how to tie stuff properly before feeling so guilty.”

“Let’s see then.”

“What’re yo- where’re you going?”

“Nowhere,” Liam says, turning away from him for a second and reaching towards the floor for something. After a few seconds, he finds what he needs and brings the scarf that he had been wearing around his neck up, “Give me your hands.”

“Why?”

“Just, shush.”

Liam ties his hands together, the green scarf going around his wrists and then Liam is lifting his hands up above his head. Puzzled, Zayn is about to ask what he’s trying to do but then Liam climbs over him and straddles him. He fastens one end of the scarf around the rod at the head of his bed, linking Zayn’s tied wrists to the rod.

“Okay, let’s see if you can get out of that,” Liam grins cheekily down at him, before he grinds his dick down on Zayn’s.

Zayn bites his bottom lip, automatically thrusting up into Liam’s touch.

“You’re eager, huh?” Liam asks, smiling cheekily above him.

“Been away from you for far too long,” he replies, shamelessly, licking his bottom lip, “Eager is an understatement. Thirsty is more like it.”

“Thirsty?” Liam bends over him, so that his face hovers directly above Zayn’s, palms pressed on either side of Zayn’s head against the soft pillow underneath it.

“For you,” he says, voice low and meaningful, presses his dick up against Liam’s, “Always, thirsty for you.”

The last syllable gets lost somewhere in Liam’s mouth when he kisses him, full and wet on the mouth. He places warm, damp kisses all over his lips, the tip of his nose, back on his lips before he slides off him, settling beside him, body pressed to Zayn’s left side, hands rolling his sleeves up, fingers tracing along a taut bicep. It tingles wherever Liam touches him. Zayn looks right into his eyes, turning his neck to face him, feeling the strain in his arms when he tries to move them.

Liam brings up a hand to run his fingers across his jaw, Liam’s eyes following his finger everywhere it goes. From the edge of Zayn’s eyes to the ridges of his cheeks, to the bottom of his chin. There is adoration in Liam’s eyes, fascination and it makes all sorts of warm bubbles burst under Zayn’s skin.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Appreciating,” Liam replies shortly, fingers running down across the length of his neck.

“Me?”

“What else is there to?”

A bubble bursts in his chest, hot and warm, “Okay, be quick then.”

“Can’t,” Liam shakes his head, fingers making their way up to linger above his lips, “There’s just so much to admire. Your eyes, your nose, your lips.”

He presses the pad of his thumb on his bottom lip. Forcing his bottom teeth to dig painfully into the flesh inside his mouth. Zayn hisses.

“Tongue out babe,” Liam says softly, using his thumb to pry open Zayn’s mouth.

Zayn complies instantly, the heaviness of Liam’s voice captivating, and opens his mouth to expose his tongue. He feels the pad of Liam’s thumb pressing into the middle of it. Hooded with fascination, Liam’s eyes are stuck on his tongue. He watches Liam glance up into his eyes from his open mouth, thumb running tiny circles across the flesh of his tongue. A shadow flickers across his irises, and then Liam is leaning down, gaze locked with Zayn’s. Zayn catches his jaw moving before Liam spits in his mouth, wetness hitting square on Zayn’s tongue.

Something hot and chilly runs down his spine at the same time. He can feel every drop of the warm, wet liquid dripping down his tongue. And the way Liam is watching him; mouth agape, lips obscenely wet, thumb pressing at the side of his bottom lip, completely entranced, makes his breath stop short, his heart threaten to jump out of his chest. When Liam looks up into his eyes, a glint in them that wasn’t there before, Zayn closes his mouth and swallows.

He hears every syllable of the sharp intake of Liam’s breath.

Opening his mouth again, he shows Liam there is nothing there anymore. Liam’s thumb slides down his tongue again before Liam captures it between his teeth. Wrapping lips around his tongue. A moan erupts from the back of his throat when Liam starts to suck on it. Liam’s tongue sliding wetly, sloppily against his. Their lips keep touching for the smallest of seconds, until Liam finally presses his own against his firmly. Every inch in contact.

He kisses Zayn without pause. Zayn licks up into every crevice of Liam’s mouth, Liam stealing all of his breaths and all of his moans even before they can hit the air. One of his hands find Zayn’s nipple under the warm fabric of his hoodie, taking the hardening bud between his thumb and index finger, squeezing it ever so gently, and Zayn groans, pressing up more into him.

Suddenly Liam pulls away, before he can complain though Liam is pulling down his pants, getting out of his shirt and he swallows his complain, his eyes gulping Liam’s image down hungrily. Liam reaches for his boxers next, and he lifts himself off immediately, using his feet as leverage, letting Liam swiftly slide them off. Liam climbs back over him again, space between them that he doesn’t like.

“Come closer,” he says, eyes in love with the dark shade of Liam’s.

Liam doesn’t reply, just leans in kissing the tip of his nose, hands reaching for the hem of his hoodie. He slides it up, until the fabric pools above Zayn’s chest, the wing tattoos splattered on it half visible. Liam leans down kisses right on red blotch of ink forming lips between Zayn’s chest, Zayn takes in a sharp breath when Liam’s tongue traces his skin. Wet, warm, tingling.

He keeps lifting himself, over and over, grinding up into Liam who is kissing all the way down to his happy trail, tracing his V-line with equally soft kisses. There is so much chaos under his skin, every kind of feeling running wild and all he can think of is to touch Liam. He twists his wrists trying to free them, knowing very well the scarf won’t budge. It’s too tight around his hands, he can feel the burn. The burn combining so beautifully with Liam’s soft lips biting softly into the thin flesh on his thighs. And then his back is arching on its own, every muscle in his arms contracting when he pulls at the scarf because Liam’s fingers are tracing his whole. Just the pads of his fingers brushing against his flesh. He wants to say something, tell Liam to go on with it, but all he manages to say is, “Liam.”

It’s enough. Liam knows, when doesn’t he? He watches Liam scramble around for a moment, reaching the drawer, pulling something out. Watches Liam come back, place himself between his legs again, as he tries to control his breath, to save some for what’s about to come. Liam doesn’t give him a moment though, he’s leaning back down, a hand placed firmly at the back of his left thigh before cold fingers are touching his rim again.

Liam prods his hole a bit, checking probably, before pushing it past the ring. Zayn knows he doesn’t need a lot of opening up, he had done a lot of that during the holidays over Skype sessions with Liam. Liam inserts the second finger right after, crooking and bending and twisting them inside, causing his eyes to fall shut. The arousal shooting through him overwhelmingly intense.

Another finger pushes inside him, he hisses when it stings a little. But then Liam’s caressing him inside, rubbing slowly and he groans, rotating his hips down on the thick digits. Adjusting. He has had toys up his hole, his own fingers buried in there as well but nothing, nothing, could ever compare to Liam’s thick knuckle pressing inside him.

“You seem ready,” Liam says, when he moans, grinding himself down on Liam’s fingers, “So ready, so thirsty.”

“Can you– _please_ , Li?” he groans, watching Liam smirking above him, hands working over his dick, slicking himself.

Then Liam shifts a bit and pries Zayn’s legs even more open, positioning his body between them, the head of his dick pushing slightly against his hole, sliding in, inch by inch until Liam is balls deep inside him.

Liam lets him adjust, rotate his hips a little, press down. And then he’s pulling out, pushing back in, Zayn’s body lifting off the bed, falling back down as the thrusts keep getting faster in pace, bit rougher. The bed creaks underneath them, Liam’s dick disappearing into Zayn, Zayn’s wrists burning, body burning in all the right places. Liam’s hands hold his hoodie up, keeping his chest exposed, as Liam bends over him, nipping at different places, and painting little bites all over Zayn’s skin.

Nothing but incoherent words come out of Zayn’s mouth, as he tries to tell Liam to go faster and Liam does, placing his hands underneath Zayn, nails digging into the soft, slender flesh of his ass cheeks, and lifting him off the bed. Finding the right angle and hitting right on the spot, it sends Zayn into a spiraling frenzy. His neck arching, back arching, ever joint in his body lit. It’s amazing how sex with Liam is like, how it never loses it’s spark, how it makes him feel hanging somewhere between hell and heaven. It burns him, and somehow that burn is what pleasures him. He won’t understand it ever, and he doesn’t have the time too either since Liam’s fingers have found his nipple. Pressing the hard bud down, caressing it, gently pinching it.

“God, Liam,” he moans, when Liam hits him again, where he wants to be hit, “I’m–”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence because he’s empty all of a sudden, a large hand pressing at the back of his left thigh, fingers twisting his right nipple, less than an inch of Liam inside him. Not enough, _not_ enough.

“Li, what’re–”

He’s cut off again, when Liam pushes in again, at the same time he tweaks his left nipple. He hates Liam, hates Liam for bringing him to the edge and then tossing him over like this. His back arches off the bed as he throws his head back and moans, so loud that if their neighbors were home, they would be banging on the walls in irritation.

He locks his ankles behind Liam's upper waist, and pulls him in, causing Liam to push in more; Liam’s balls flush against Zayn’s skin, not an inch of his dick visible. Buried so well, so fittingly inside Zayn. Liam lowers his mouth over Zayn's body, and slightly licks the nipple he had twisted before, sucks on it, teeths at it, hand wrapping around Zayn’s sensitive dick. He starts to stroke Zayn, just the right pace, bringing him even closer to the edge, a step away from losing ground.

“Fuck,” Zayn moans deeply, tightening the hold of his legs around Liam, “If I could, I would keep you buried like this inside me all the time. Forever.”

“But then you'd miss all your art classes,” Liam pumps him slowly.

“Maybe I could invite the class up over here and ask them to paint us like this,” Zayn says, “Make them see how good we look like this, how fucking incredible you make me feel. Like none of them ever could.”

“Fuck, don’t,” Liam bites his nipple in response, curses slipping out of his mouth. Liam keeps stroking him, a bit faster. Placing hard, wet kisses in a line from his belly button all the way up to the middle of his chest.

Zayn is spinning, soaring tumbling, falling, all at the same time as Liam keep hitting him right on spot. In and out, harder than the previous thrust, until Liam bites rough at the edge of his V-line and Zayn moans his name, obscene and lustful, and comes all over Liam's hands. All throughout, Liam doesn't stop, placing kisses over an area that burns with something akin to pleasure, before he pauses, buried inside him. Zayn feels Liam dick pulsing, and then warm, unmissable wetness when Liam comes inside him, nose pressed firmly against his bicep, exhaling, inhaling.

Its ages before Liam moves from top of him, placing a wet kiss on his mouth, before he’s straightening up. Eyes never shying away from his face; Zayn doesn’t stop looking at him either. All red in the face, lighter shades meshing into darker ones. Eyes glinting, lips apart, chest heaving as Liam reaches for his wrists bound to the bed frame.

Untying his hands from the bed frame, Liam uses the scarf to wipe the mess they have made between them. He watches Liam for a second or two while flexing his arms and wrists; get the faint ache to wear out. There are red marks all around his wrists, it still burns but in his heart he knows, if Liam decided to tie him up all over again, he'd let him.

Throwing the scarf back on the floor, Liam pulls up a blanket over both of them, resting his head beside Zayn on the pillow, sliding an arm underneath Zayn's waist, pull him a bit closer.

“So, how're you?” Liam grins at him, cheeky, eyes light, still a bit of dark in there.

“Missing you,” he says.

Throwing an arm over him as well, Liam pulls him even closer. Until Liam's lips can touch his nose, Liam's nose can rest lightly against his forehead.

“Still?” Liam asks.

“Not really,” he smiles, “Not when your skin is touching mine.”

He can feel Liam's arm wound hard around his waist, fingers lightly dancing across the back of his waist, tracing his spine, while Liam hums against his nose, “We've got five more days to stay in bed all day. Then we'll have to go to class.”

“If you were a subject, I wouldn't have to go to class to study,” he whispers, rubbing on Liam's birth mark, his third favorite spot on Liam's body, “Why aren't you a subject, Liam?”

Liam chuckles, kisses his nose, “Maybe because you aren't either. If you were one, you'd be my favorite. I'd major in you. Always get an A+ in you. Leave everyone behind. Then do a PhD in you. Dr. Liam James Payne, area of expertise; Zayn.”

Chuckling soft, he looks up into Liam's eyes, sees his reflection in them, “You are a cutie, my love. You know that?”

Liam smiles wide, presses their foreheads together, “And I love you. You know that?”

“I think I’d die without you, you know that?”

“I know that,” Liam says, hand gently cupping the side of his face, “I would die _for_ you, Zayn.”  
  
“You're my jaan, Liam.”

**Author's Note:**

> like always, im sorry if this was a mess. :)
> 
>  
> 
> [hmu on tumblr if u wanna](http://ziamasf.tumblr.com/)


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